What Will Be
by Holly5
Summary: In the future, the wizarding world will fall to the dark lord, and all will be lost. Desperate a single fifteen-year-old boy is sent back, to change his past, and Howarts' destiny... HG/SS
1. Chapter 1

A/N: My first HP fanfic, and it's a weird'un, too! :D Enjoy, and don't forget to post a review, lest the horrible demons of my malice haunt you forever. Mwahahahaha!  
  
  
  
  
  
Blood dripped from an open wound on the young man's scalp as he desperately clawed his way up the dungeon steps, the sounds of yells, incantations, and falling rubble filled his ears until he was certain he'd go deaf. A huge gash tore it's way through the fabric of his robes, bleeding even more furiously as the wound on his head. In one hand he clutched his wand tightly. Thirteen inches, cedar, dragon heartstrings. It was easier to focus on the wand and climbing now. Better not to remember what was back there, as another scream from the dungeons ripped the sky, and a piece of flooring crashed into the stairs next to him. It was unthinkable. Hogwarts had fallen. Dumbledore and Harry Potter were dead, the Dark Lord had taken the castle by storm, killing all students who dared oppose him. A last-ditch battle was beaten back into the dungeons, but it was already far beyond hopeless. 'Let me die. It's too much, I can't breath, I can't think. Let me die.' He thought with dark resignation. His silky black hair clung to his face, framing soft features, but unusually hard and cold black eyes. Dirt and blood were caked onto him, the latter still flowing quite freely. Demitrius gave up on his attempts to flee. He was no Gryffindor, he did not shine and sparkle with foolish bravery, but he certainly knew when he was beaten.  
  
"Demi!" A hoarse voice called for him, and Demitrius half turned, barely catching the sound above the noises of a bloody war. A familiar face stared out at him, pained, from the shadows. She was badly injured, he could tell right away. With a wince of pain he managed to heave himself back down towards her.  
  
"Professor McGonagall... We've lost..." He rasped sadly, looking at a woman he knew all too well to be dying. Still, defiance reigned in her eyes. Defiance and a little trace of hope. She clutched his uninjured arm tightly.  
  
"Not yet, Demitrius, not yet." She said, and he found himself briefly wondering if she'd gone mad from grief and pain. Still, out of respect for someone he'd been intimidated by all his life, he didn't move. With a shaky hand she reached into her robes and pulled out what looked to be a pocket watch. However, as soon as the object fell into his shaky grasp, Demi knew it was nothing so simple. He looked imploringly at his dying professor. A rueful smile twisted her pale lips, as she coughed, spilling yet more blood onto his battered robes. "...In such times, some rules... should be broken..." She said enigmatically. Then, in a voice almost a whisper, she added; "Be careful. It will all make sense to you soon."  
  
Demitrius opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Or rather they came, but did not come out. Everything froze. The movement of the world, the pain that racked his body, the feeling of his own heart beating and his lungs drawing frantic, shaky breaths. Then blackness, complete and total, consumed him, and young Demitrius was plunged into another time.  
  
~  
  
Hermione sighed as she moved purposefully, if reluctantly, down towards the dungeons and Snape's dreaded Potions class. While she hadn't been a student for the past five years, she had been a teacher since the last one, and had been discussing the plans for a new defensive spell on Hogwarts with Severus not ten minutes prior. 'I swear, that man is completely insufferable!" She thought angrily. Of course, most of it was probably prompted by bitterness, seeing as how Hermione had gotten the job in one try which he had failed to receive after years of fruitless efforts. Defence Against the Dark Arts. It had made almost impossible.  
  
Still, Dumbledore wanted them to work together, on administering a potion to every single student, ghost, and staff member in the building, that would make them utterly undetectable to anyone who hadn't taken the same concoction. Just in case someone managed to sneak a spy in under the control of the Dark Lord. It was only logical, she thought, that they were expected to co-conspire. He was the Potions Master, and she was in charge of protecting the students from evil. Or at least teaching them how to do that themselves. Which had become a vastly more serious task, considering the dark times that plagued them.  
  
Hermione sighed. Talking with Snape was bad enough, but she'd left he notes in his office, and getting them back would be downright degrading. She could just hear his voice inside her head. 'Really, Professor, it's disgraceful to see someone so lacking in sense teaching here. How ever will your students cope?' He'd say smoothly, the words rumbling out, with that sneer plastered on his face as he spat the word 'professor'. Mostly Hermione felt a warm glow when she heard it. But when Snap said it, it was like an insult, or some sort of twisted mockery on reality. Which he probably thought it was.  
  
Suddenly the cold became far too intense, even for the dungeons, and Hermione's musings were halted as a feeling of intense pain and an unnatural energy slammed into her. With a shout she dropped to the cold steps. A great black tear raked the world next to her, opening it up like some horrific gash in real-life story book. Blue lightning crackled along her vision as a figure, robed in black, was dumped unceremoniously at her feet. The pain left as quickly as it had come, as did the tear, and with an explosive 'pop' something burst away from the ragged form before her. She vaguely noted, through her haze of confusion and panic, that it looked something like a broken pocket-watch.  
  
That thought halted, however, as soon as she realised what the huddled lump of robes and thick, dark red fluid before her was. Charcoal black as looked into hers with a mixture of shock and utter amazement. "...I must be dead..." The figure choked out, before his eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and his head fell forward with a slight 'thud'.  
  
At first, Hermione was too utterly amazed to do anything. She sat there, eyes wide, mouth gaping like a caught fish. Still, she was hardly one to take leave of her senses for very long, and quickly snapped her jaw shut. She was no mediwitch but she knew near-fatal injuries when she saw them. She'd seen enough to last her a lifetime, being one of Harry's closest friends. But in a situation like this, there were only a few things to do, and Hermione did them all. Lifting her wand, she cast a simple floating charm on the ragged boy before her. He didn't look more than fifteen. As she did this, she grabbed his robes, and began to haul his feather-light body upwards, barely taking note of the blood dripping from him. Getting him to the infirmary quickly was a definite must. And, as she performed these actions, she also released her best and most blood-curdling scream for help. Even her own ears rang.  
  
Hermione didn't wait as she began up the stairs. She could get from potions to the infirmary in just under six minutes if she moved very quickly, something she'd picked up during the years spent as one of Malfoy's favourite targets. It did well to time such things she'd soon learned. At the sound of her scream, she heard the loud murmur that told her the door to the on-going Potions class had opened, and several doors further down the corridor were following suit. Familiar faces poked through, soon gaining looks of astonishment, but even still it was the swishing sound of Snape's robes that first reached her as she ran.  
  
"What happened?" He demanded curtly, coming up to step with her. Hermione shook her head. The answer didn't even make much sense to her right now, she certainly wasn't going to waste breath trying to tell Snape. Instead she focused on running to the infirmary, and keeping a firm grasp on the young man floating beside her. After a few minutes she re-cast the float charm, seeing it begin to fade. Something stirred deeply inside of her as she glanced at this boy's face, ignoring the small contingent of staff and upper classmen sent to follow her, and barely aware of those who had gone ahead to warn Poppy. He seemed oddly familiar, though she couldn't place him as a student. Even though he obviously was. Through crimson stains she could still make out the silver and green of Slytherin on his scarf, and he was garbed in school robes.  
  
It seemed like eternity before she reached the infirmary, where Pomfrey quickly took the boy from her charge, and began to work her magic. Literally. Hermione slumped into a seat nearby, watching intently, tired and still in more than a little shock. A murmur of voices began to fill the air, but the mediwitch dutifully shooed away the curious contingent, until all but she, Hermione, and the injured boy were left. Even Snape went away, though it was with a fairly vicious snarl.  
  
"...Will he be alright?" Hermione asked at last, after minutes which seemed more like hours had snailed by, and the flurry of Madam Pomfrey's actions had finally slowed. She was folding the young man into the covers of the medical bed, having dressed him in loose pyjamas, and Hermione idly wondered when that had happened.  
  
"Yes, quite alright, though it was a close one at that. What happened?" She asked, her typical briskness mingled with genuine concern. Hermione could only shake her head, slightly frozen.  
  
"I don't know. I was going down to the Potions classroom, to ask Professor Snape if he would let me into his office, so I could get my notes. I'd forgotten them. But when I was going down the stairs, it just-" Hermione broke off there, her face pale. She knew somewhere in her foggy mind that it wouldn't be long until Dumbledore showed up. Then things would be right, her brain said, since Dumbledore could fix anything.  
  
The wand was at her nose before she even had time to really register it, and Madam Pomfrey was inspecting her, brows knitted in concern. "My dear, you've been cursed." She said seriously. Hermione barely heard it. "Or at least something quite like it, definitely a lot of dark magic was used. It's like you've been sand-blasted!" She said, her usual tittering tones or scolding actions dripping away like wax off a candle. It was vaguely reminiscent of how she behaved the night Cedric Diggory died, when Harry had been brought in, gravely injured in his soul more than body. The night He returned. "Hermione?" Her eyes fixed on the mediwitch's face through a mingled blur.  
  
"Yes?" She asked, feeling just a little bit dizzy.  
  
"Hermione, I need you to tell me everything that happened. Did this boy use a curse on you? Dark magic?" Pomfrey demanded firmly, just as the door opened, and the room was filled with Dumbledore's undeniable presence.  
  
"...No, it wasn't him, it was that horrible tear..." Hermione managed to slur out, before she felt her eyes slid shut and began the fast descent sideways off her chair.  
  
~  
  
When Hermione opened her eyes again, she found herself lying on a medical bed, the sunlight beaming through the windows to warm her face. She blinked, raising a hand to rub the sleep from her face, and stretching her mouth into a yawn. 'What on earth am I doing here?" She wondered. Then her eyes widened, as memories came flooding back, and she sat up with a bolt. Instantly she regretted it as a painful surge coursed through her skull.  
  
"Bad move, that. You should never bolt straight up when you're in a hospital bed you know. You're likely to be there for a reason." A voice, not mocking, but definitely cold and detached said. Hermione would have whipped her head around to look at it's owner, but his words rang true, and further movement would not be wise.  
  
"Oh shut up." She said tartly. Whoever owned that voice, his tones were oddly reminiscent of Malfoy or Snape, the same bolt of ice-covered words, even if they're meaning wasn't the same sort of insults she'd come to expect. A laugh filled the air. Brisk, but genuine if nothing else, and definitely quite biting.  
  
"Tsk tsk, she bites the hand that feeds her. Or, well, at least the voice that offers advice." He told her mockingly. Hermione twisted her head just enough to look at him, then realisation hit her like a ton of bricks, and she wondered how she could have been so thick. It was the Slytherin boy she'd brought in last night! The blood was gone, and he was cleaner now, but the same heart-shaped face and dark, piercing eyes were unmistakable. For a brief second a twinge of familiarity swept over Hermione. But it passed soon enough.  
  
"Who are you?" She asked, no longer concerned with his words and tone of voice. The young man paled a little, and a brief laugh exploded from him, more like a painful bark than anything else.  
  
"Wouldn't you like to know? But I really shouldn't say. At least, not until I've spoken to Dumbledore, and made sure of. things." He told her, his gaze still upon her, but his eyes becoming clouded with thought. He gave his head a brief shake before snapping back to reality. "Although I'd like to say I'm sorry about the trouble. Unfortunately I wasn't quite ready for the ride, you see, and didn't know what was happening until it already had. Bad luck you were there when I landed. Or, maybe good, since you probably saved my ass. But still, sorry about it." He told her, and Hermione got the brief impression that he was rambling, even though he's tones didn't really let on.  
  
"Sorry for what?" She inquired. He blinked, surprise flashing through his gaze, and Hermione realised that he didn't show emotion much anyplace else.  
  
"For hammering you with black magic." He said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Hermione's as widened as she started, surprised by his words, and he let out a long, low whistle. "I must have hit you something nasty if you don't even remember!" He declared. Before either one could say anything more, however, the sound of a throat clearing itself rang through the air. Hermione and the boy both looked over to see Dumbledore standing in the doorway. The familiar twinkle of his eyes was overshadowed by concern, and his gaze seemed to take in the entire room, focusing on the two newly-awakened patients.  
  
To Hermione's surprise, the young man on the bed nearby let loose a broad grin, only a little too happy to manage being a sneer. It seemed an unusual, yet oddly natural, expression for his features to take on. Like a well-worn piece of clothing in entirely the wrong colour for it's owner. A look of relief shone quite vibrantly in his dark eyes. This change did not go unnoticed by Dumbledore, but only the faintest change in his demeanour indicated that. "My apologies for interrupting." He said, moving over to stand closer to the new professor and the mysterious student. "I trust both of you are feeling considerably better?" He asked. Hermione nodded her head, as did the young man, and he smiled. "Excellent. Poppy will be gone for awhile, breakfast has just started. Blueberry pancakes I believe. It's a shame we three shall miss it, but alas, I'm afraid I have a few questions for you two." Dumbledore said, in his usual, round-about way of speaking.  
  
Hermione was first to go. She knew she would be, when the Headmaster fixed her with an expectant look. Drawing a breath she managed to explain what had happened the other day, doing a much more thorough, sensible job than she'd managed to in yesterday's frenzy. When she'd finished she glanced at the boy nearby, and then at Dumbledore, obviously quite curious to know his side of the story. Before it could be looked into, however, the boy spoke up.  
  
"Professor, if I may, I think it would be better if I told you my side in private." He said firmly, and Hermione felt herself deflate a little as the headmaster acquiesced. The two scurried off to Madam Pomfrey's office, with a single, tellingly apologetic look from Albus Dumbledore. Hermione sighed and leaned back into her bad. It was an almost certainty now that whatever she learned after the discussion would be an 'edited' version. She bit her lip and glanced at the door, briefly contemplating eaves- dropping. But while her curiosity was great, her sense of right and wrong outdid it, and purposefully listening in on one of Dumbledore's conversation took a type of audacity not even Severus Snape possessed.  
  
~  
  
Demitrius had felt such utter, complete, penetrating relief when he'd seen Albus Dumbledore, that it was a wonder he hadn't fainted on-sight. After all, the sighting could only confirm one of his two more preferable theories. The first was that he was dead, and heaven looked a great deal like Hogwarts, which to his mind was far from surprising. The other was a far less pessimistic possibility. And, having taken in the unusual state of the infirmary earlier, it was shaping up to be the more likely as well. He was slightly caught in his thoughts, but was drawn out when he heard the light 'thud' of something being placed on Madam Pomfrey's desk, as Dumbledore took a seat behind it. The item he had lowered was none other than the pocket watch McGonagall had slipped him as she died. It was stained red with blood here and there, and the face was completely smashed in. "A most interesting object." Dumbledore said thoughtfully, his twinkling blue eyes upon it. "I wonder how it came to be on the steps down to our infamous dungeons?"  
  
Demi knew a veiled order when he saw one, and cleared his throat, ready to begin the telling of his tale. "Sir, I suspect that I'm from your future." He started. While Demitrius possessed a very smooth, elegant, slightly cold way with words, his militaristic behaviour betrayed him to be someone who had grown up in a very war-like environment. He was behaving like a soldier de-briefing himself. Dumbledore nodded in agreement.  
  
"Yes, that would explain our mangled time-piece here. An object which is quite illegal you know." He mused, and stared at Demitrius expectantly over the rim of his glasses. The young man quirked an eyebrow at the comment. He could tell he was being sized up, and a small smirk twisted his lips. While it was surprising to see the headmaster behave so openly suspicious, he was used to being treated with uncertainty. And Demitrius had to admit he couldn't exactly blame the old man. A Slytherin exploding onto the dungeon steps, in a blur of dark magic, nearly killing one of their finest professors and using an illegal object to do it? His own father might doubt him under the circumstances.  
  
"I can assure you, I was fairly unaware of what was happening when I used it." Demitrius explained. There was a pause as Dumbledore took him in, sizing him up. His eyes seemed to stare right through the young man before him. Demi knew he would believe him, it was an inherit trait of the old man to be trusting rather than not. Suddenly the evaluation ceased and Dumbledore smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him.  
  
"Why don't you relax and try and tell me what's happened?" He suggested. Demi paused at first, his mind instantly suspicious, and then berated himself. 'Gods, Demi, it's Albus Dumbledore, not some drunken former Death- Eater.' He thought and took a seat. A bag of lemon sherbet candies was thrust under his nose, but he politely declined.  
  
"Right. It might be easier if I knew the date." He said.  
  
"March third, two thousand and eight, I believe." Dumbledore supplied. Demitrius nodded.  
  
"Well, then, I guess that's that." He murmured to himself. Then he fixed Dumbledore with a keen gaze, and plunged into his tale.  
  
"The last thing I remember happened in the year two thousand twenty-five. The war with the Dark Lord had taken on newer, viler levels. In my time you, and Harry Potter, are both quite dead. As are my own parents and many others as well. Howarts, the last great stand against He Who Must Not Be Named's forces, had fallen. We were beaten back to the dungeons by the Death Eaters, and-" Demi's eyes darkened considerably as he continued, "- and the turn-coat students. It was a hopeless case. There were only twelve of us at the end; McGonagall, myself, and ten foolishly devoted Gryffindors. The rest were either dead, captured, or even worse, traitors. Off the bat four fell to the Unforgivables. It was sport for the enemy now, they knew they'd won. But of course the couldn't resist the chance to torment us all. We fought as best we could, be in the end, it was obvious there was nothing left to fight for. At first I tried to retreat... But I was certain I would be dead anyway. Even if I got out of the dungeons, and escaped through some miracle, I would be dead before I reached the front gate." Demitrius paused briefly, deep in thought, before he continued.  
  
"Just I was lying down to die, I heard a voice calling my name. McGonagall, stubborn as always, was scarping her way over. She was in worse shape than I. But before she died, she gave me that." Demitrius looked purposefully at the pocket-watch. "Then she might have muttered something about not giving up. I was pretty certain she'd gone mad, but since we were both dead anyway, I chose to indulge her. The next thing I knew I was being thrown around in a storm of black magic, and was unceremoniously deposited here. When I saw..." And here he paused again, though now his look was one of question, more than contemplation. "...Hermione, I was certain that I was dead. But after I woke up I began to think that it seemed a little unlikely that the watch and the sudden change were unconnected. So, my mind concluded that the dear professor had sent me back, an illegal and desperate act." Demitrius mused quietly. For someone as young as himself, he had a decidedly haunted look about him.  
  
It was a time before Dumbledore spoke, but again the young Slytherin couldn't help but feel the old man would believe him. Scratch that, he was dead bloody sure Dumbledore didn't doubt his story. Demi looked at his hands. A strange thing. He was so certain that death was at hand, but this, this had come directly out of left-field, hadn't it? Inwardly he felt a rueful smile tug at his lips. It didn't get past to show outwardly, but it was there all the same. 'McGonagall, you stubborn old dingbat, it figures you wouldn't lay down and die.' He thought. Of course, it never occurred to him how odd it was for a Slytherin to be fond of the Gryffindor Head of House, he'd known her all his life, hadn't he? It wasn't like they were automatically enemies because most Slytherins and most Gryffindors didn't particularly get along. Out of habit Demi dropped his hand to his side to finger his wand. His eyes widened as he realised it wasn't there. 'Well, of course it's not, you're in pyjamas, not your robes!' His own mind scolded him. Dumbledore, however, noted the somewhat frantic look on his face and read him quite correctly.  
  
"I believe your uniform was taken to be washed, but if I'm not mistaken, the house elves would most likely..." His voice became muffled as he leaned down to look in one of Pomfrey's drawers. He re-emerged shortly after. "Ah, yes, here we are." He said, and handed Demitrius his wand. The boy took it gratefully. Growing up in a place where people had a tendency to. well, die, to be honest, had left most wizards quite firmly protective of their wands. Being caught without one was as good as signing yourself up for a long, painful death. He looked at Dumbledore imploringly as he placed the wand at his side.  
  
"You believe me, but you're not sure if you want me to change history, right?" He both asked and stated at the same time. Dumbledore chuckled, and Demi wondered how he could behave so lightly, before remembering who this was and what time he was in again.  
  
"And people say I can read minds." He mused, and Demi didn't miss the note of laughter to his voice. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. People made a lot of comments about Dumbledore's skills. Not many were exaggerated. "Yes, you're quite right my boy, I don't doubt your story. The evidence before us is quite plain. The watch, your behaviour, even Professor Granger's condition all lean towards your tale." He said. Demi was about to ask who Professor Granger was when he remembered, and bit his tongue. Dumbledore continue undaunted. "Yes, according to witnesses, you weren't in much of a state to fling a powerful curse when Hermione found you. Yet Poppy could quite distinctly smell the taint of black magic on you two, which left quite a mystery on our hands. Severus seemed to think a group of Death Eaters must have sneaked in and assaulted you both. Quite livid, to be honest." The old man said. In spite of himself Demi smiled. The image of an irate Severus Snape stalking around, looking for non- existent Death Eaters, was a somewhat warming thought. It was a familiar enough scenario. "But you're also quite right about changing the future. Destiny is a tricky thing to start playing with." Dumbledore warned. Demitrius felt a familiar cold anger begin to swirl in him. He scowled. Ordinarily he was quite good at covering up his emotions, but in this instance, he was too strained to bother trying.  
  
"I'm not some pained fool, grieving a lost loved-one, going back to stop them from drinking a cup of poisoned tea or going down a dark alleyway here Professor." He snapped. "If destiny plans for things to turn out as they did in my timeline, she can bloody well go and fuck herself, because the future I know isn't little rays of hope or beacons of sunshine. We were the last ones!" Demitrius was thoroughly riled before he was even sure what he was doing, and slammed his hands down firmly on the desk. "The last! Hogwarts' fall was the doom of wizards and muggles everywhere. It was that fool Vol-Volde-Vol-" He stopped yelling, and cast his eyes downwards, his eyes burning with frustration. "Even his name, I don't dare say it, no one but you or Potter ever could." He confessed. Wearily he returned his stinging palms to his side, and fingered his wand thoughtfully, as Dumbledore sat patiently and waited for him to go on. "I didn't plan this. But, it's not like McGonagall would do something so illegal, so frowned upon, if it wasn't our only hope. You never saw the worst of it. You died, natural causes, before they dared to become so bold. Potter was never the same after. They tricked him, lured him out with muggle hostages, and slaughtered him. Sent his heart back to Hogwarts in a box. That's we knew they were coming, when Potter died, there was nothing left. Without you or him Hogwarts wasn't a stronghold anymore. Maybe there were others who could have stopped it, if they hadn't been killed. Black and Lupin maybe. My mother told me about them before she died. But, they were killed by our own side, as the aurors became more and more desperate. More and more fierce. Azkaaban crumbled in the hands of the Death Eaters. Ron Weasley himself will die a year from now, caught in Hogsmeade as he leaves Hogwarts. My mother will also die at the hands of a Death Eater, and my father, well he will be killed in his pursuit of vengeance not two years later." Demitrius said it all quietly. He had to make the man understand! Dumbledore looked grave as he took his seat.  
  
"Changing your history may seem wise now, but there may be consequences you could not have predicted. Even by arriving here you alter the fabric of the future. Your actions could prevent deaths, yes, and could stop the terrible events you described from coming to pass. But they could also have equally dark results as well. Your own birth may be prevented by your very presence here." Dumbledore said cautiously. Demitrius let out a caustic laugh.  
  
"Yes, true, and maybe another child will be born because of it. Who's to say? All I know is that I would prefer not being born to living that particular life. Especially if it means sparing the others from it." He argued. A small smile began to grow on Dumbledore's face.  
  
"Are you entirely certain the Sorting Hat placed you in the right House, my boy? You sound very Gryffindor to me." He mused, almost teasingly. Demi snorted at the comment.  
  
"It was a close call. But that hat's never been wrong, and I doubt it finally screwed up when it hit me." He confessed.  
  
"Oh, my, I just realised I didn't even ask your name!" Dumbledore suddenly exclaimed. Demitrius paled. Well, this would make things interesting, wouldn't it? He took a breath.  
  
"You're excused, naturally. My name is Demitrius Snape." He said. Dumbledore didn't even bat a lash at the surname, and Demi felt his own wicked sense of humour urge him forward. "My parents were Severus and Hermione Snape."  
  
Now at that, at least, the old man's eyebrows went up.  
  
  
  
A/N: Well, whatcha think? Shall I go on? FEEDBACK!!!!!!!!!!! :D Either give me constructive criticism, or flatter me with your adoration *ignores the derisive snort from the background*, or flame me and feel my wrath. :D BTW, Snape will get a more prominent role in a few chappies, but right now I wanna focus on Hermione and Demi, for obvious reasons. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed, you guys are the best! Shout-outs at the end of the chappie!  
  
  
  
While Demi's comment had the desired effect, he regretted it almost the second the words were past his lips. He was no fool. While his mother may have died when he was only nine, and his father during his first year at Hogwarts, he fancied that he'd known his parents pretty well. And they were both very stubborn people, with amazingly large egos, considering they didn't hold themselves in particularly high esteem. Each other, yes, but both had been plagued by more than a little self-doubt. The combination of ego, self-hatred, and stubbornness meant that if either one of them got wind of their future relationship, it would be over before it started. And despite Demi's recent statements, he'd rather avoid the whole 'not existing' thing if he could.  
  
Dumbledore's eyebrows eventually gravitated back downwards, and his expression was a mixture of intense amusement, and slight worry. The source of amusement was obvious. After all, the sheer irony of him crashing into his own mother when he journeyed back through time wasn't lost on him. And it probably had some root in the idea of his parents as a couple too. But the worry... Demi pondered it. Well, he had said both his parents died rather unpleasantly, hadn't he? Probably a blow to the old man to realise that when Demitrius said EVERYONE was lost, he had meant it quite literally. After a moment Dumbledore spoke again.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't mention that to either of them, if I were you." He warned. Demi smirked quite genuinely.  
  
"I think I'll have to agree with that advice." He said. There were a few more moments of contemplative silence, before Dumbledore spoke again. He didn't mention changing history. Seemed as though the two had agreed to disagree for the moment. But there was another matter now that the story was out, and that was the question of what to do with young Demitrius. With the very powerful time-shifter now broken, they couldn't very well send him back without using another one, and neither Dumbledore nor Demitrius were too fond of the idea of him skipping merrily into his own timeline to be tortured to death. "I'd rather you just killed me here and found me a nice, cosy grave, thanks." He declared sarcastically, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
Eventually, after a great deal of conversing and weighing options, Dumbledore made a decision. He rose from his seat, and fixed Demitrius with a very serious look. "The workings of time are very complicated, my dear boy, and try as I might even I have difficulties understanding them. However, the fact remains that you are here now, and it seems there is no alternative but for you to stay. The future will be what it may. Tomorrow morning your arrival will be explained, and you will attend classes as a student of this school." He said, with a finality to his tones that left no room for argument. Demi scowled but said nothing. He couldn't really argue with the reasoning, and at least if he was here, there would be some chance to change things for the better. He nodded, and Dumbledore's seriousness melted back into a familiar twinkle, and a smile. "It seems from what I've heard that you've already been sorted into Slytherin. You may desire to change your last name, as I doubt Professor Snape will fail to see a connection, between himself and a boy from the future so... Like him." The headmaster informed. Demitrius blanched. 'He thinks I'm like Father?' He thought with a brief stir of wonderment. He'd always admired his father, always seen him as human, but a sort of endlessly wise and powerful one. Even after his death the image hadn't faded. Some slight colour crept to his cheeks at what he took to be a compliment, and he nodded his agreement again.  
  
"You're right, of course. But what name?" He wondered. Dumbledore shrugged, and Demi sat back, taking his chin in hand as he thought. Something that would make him turn when people called it, but not overly obvious, or embarrassing. Hmm.  
  
"Septimus." He said at last. His eyes were thoughtful. "I'll remember that, and my initials stay the same." He provided. (A/N Severus Septimus was a Roman Emperor, a fairly interesting one too. My idea of a little joke.) Then a thought occurred to him. "Er, Professor? Won't there be a bit of a panic if you tell everyone why I've come?" He asked curiously. He'd had plenty of experience with the way people acted when they knew their life was endanger, and didn't care to experience it further. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"I expect there might be, which is why I'm not planning on telling them why you've come. And neither should you Demitrius. Whether you change the future or not is up to you, but it would hardly be fitting for you to make such an ominous announcement to the entire school, and I'm afraid I can't allow it." Dumbledore said firmly. Demi couldn't hide the small, slightly evil smile that slithered up his face. 'Going it alone, eh? I've done that before too.' He thought confidently. Then he straightened, placing his nose a little higher in the air, as the glint of a predator shone in his eyes.  
  
"Fair enough Professor. I stay, but I keep my mouth shut." He agreed. Then he reached out a hand, and clasped the old man's tightly, sealing the deal. His mother used to make him do that whenever he made a 'pact'. Like, 'I will not threaten Uncle Harry anymore, no matter what Father says.' That had been a particularly strict rule. Demitrius turned and stalked out of the office, Dumbledore not far behind him. Even though he acknowledged all of Potter's accomplishments, he'd never liked the man, no matter how fond of him his mother was. A trait, it seemed, ingrained into all Slytherins for whatever reason.  
  
~  
  
Hermione had finished dressing herself, and was just pulling open the privacy curtains around her, when the mysterious boy and the headmaster finally emerged from Poppy's office. She was wondering what was keeping the mediwitch at breakfast for so long, before it occurred to her that Dumbledore had likely given her something else to occupy her time, at least to ensure she didn't barge in on a particularly dramatic conversation. Able healer though she was, Poppy could become very irate with only a little prompting.  
  
The boy looked at her for a moment, before fixing her with a very firm smile, and an expression similar to resolution darted through his eyes. "Sorry about that." He said cheerfully. Hermione shrugged, and glanced at Dumbledore, at something of a loss for what to say. She'd never had brilliant people skills and to be quite honest the shock hadn't gone completely away. Still, Hermione found the boy very distinctly. pleasant. Which was odd, the way he seemed earlier, somewhat cold and sarcastic. Dumbledore seemed to sense her trouble and swooped down in something of a rescue.  
  
"Professor Granger, young Demitrius Septimus. Mr Septimus, may I present Professor Granger, our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." He said. Hermione pulled up a smile and moved to shake his hand. He took it firmly. "Demitrius accidentally used a rather powerful time-travel device to get here Hermione, completely by mistake I assure you, but it seems as though he's here to stay. I trust you and the other professors will help to make him feel more at ease." Dumbledore said warmly. Hermione smiled, nodding vigorously, the surprise evident on her face.  
  
"Yes, of course. That must have been quite the brutal trip." She said, reflecting on his injuries, and of course assuming it was the explosive dark magic that caused them. Demitrius let out a short laugh.  
  
"Professor, you have no idea." He told her. Somehow, she felt fairly certain there was more to this than they were telling, but she wouldn't find out by simply asking. 'Another mystery at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron would be furious to know they'd missed out!' She thought, and had to fight back a misty feeling of nostalgia.  
  
"Well, if you don't mind, I think I'll get dressed." Demitrius said, spying his newly-washed robes laid out upon his bed. Hermione's senses seemed to spring back to herself at this fairly mundane comment, and she hastily glanced down at her watch.  
  
"Oh no, I've got a class in fifteen minutes!" She squeaked. Dumbledore chuckled lightly as she made her hurried goodbyes and dashed madly for the door, as though she were already late, instead of a bit behind schedule. Demitrius watched her go with curiosity.  
  
"...I guess she was always like that." He said softly, before grabbing his clothing off his bed and pulling the curtains shut tight around him. Thankfully the school robes at Hogwarts hadn't changed a lick in seventeen years. There had been other things to worry about, more pressing than fashion sensibility. Dumbledore's voice reached him from beyond the confines of the curtain, as he unbuttoned his temporary pyjamas and began pulling more familiar clothes onto his person.  
  
"I shall have Severus work out a schedule for you to use tomorrow. Until then, you may go wherever you please, but I must ask that you stay within the grounds." Dumbledore said. Demitrius grunted his assent. In the life he was used to, leaving Hogwarts was quite out of the question, really. Far too dangerous. Even the staff rarely ventured from it's walls, only coming and going when supplies were needed. Or information.  
  
By the time Demi had finished dressing, Dumbledore had left the infirmary, and he found himself alone. He ran his eyes on the familiar, yet so very different structure. It was only Poppy Pomfrey who manned it now, and the rooms had yet to be let-out to accommodate a greater need. The quiet was strangely disconcerting. No people being brought in with gashes in their heads, or snapped limbs, or minds nearly torn apart by torture and anguish. Very different indeed. But, in the good sort of way, he mused.  
  
"M-Madam Pomfrey?" He heard a shaky voice at the door. Demitrius' eyes snapped down to the little figure standing in the archway. A small girl, with frizzy blonde hair, stood clutching a hand covered in boils and reddening painfully as tears slid down her cheeks.  
  
"She's not here at the moment. What did you do?" Demi asked, moving over to her and looking at the hand. She shook a little, and he could tell she was slightly startled by his presence, and a little afraid as well. He summed her up in one glance. Young, no more than first or perhaps second year, Hufflepuff for sure.  
  
"I-I slipped in herbology... W-we were working w-with mandrakes, b-but t- there was the bubot-t-t-tubor puss from the fourth y-years still out." She said. Demitrius let go of her damaged hand and looked around for the soothing lotion that solved this sort of insignificant mishap. He soon spied it at the top of one of Pomfrey's shelves. Reaching down, he lifted his wand, and pointed it at the desired object.  
  
"Accio Soothing Cream." He commanded firmly, and the little jar zipped over to his outstretched hand. He turned back to the girl, who was still standing in the doorway. Demi rolled his eyes. "Sit. There." He ordered, pointing at a nearby chair. She hurried over to it almost as though he'd threatened her. 'Pathetic.' He thought, and pulled the lid from the jar. The girl was shaking a bit. "Here, you'd better do this. Just rub it gently over your hand wherever it burns." He instructed, handing her the jar. She took it fearfully and began doing as he told. He considered her for a moment. "You know, a little odd, isn't it?" He stated. She looked at him in confusion.  
  
"W-what?" She asked, her lower lip trembling as she rubbed in the cream. Demitrius began to take a great interest in the front of his robes, straightening them out casually, as though having a light discussion with a friend.  
  
"Well, from what I can remember, we had to wear our dragon-hide gloves when we worked with the mandrakes. Nasty creatures, really, and they can bite pretty hard. Now how did you dose your hand in bubotuber puss when you were wearing gloves?" He asked, as though quite genuinely puzzled. The girl looked down, and the tears fell just a little harder.  
  
"I-it f-fell off..." She began. Demi raised a single eyebrow at her, folding his arms in front of his chest. He'd seen the behaviour before in junior classmen. It was blatantly obvious, really.  
  
"Their names. Now." He ordered firmly, as though a teacher and not a student. The girl flushed a bright pink.  
  
"I d-don't understand." She lied. Demitrius scowled his most intimidating scowl.  
  
"Then let me be more clear, Miss...?"  
  
"...C-Cook. Adrienne Cook."  
  
"Ah, Miss Cook. I would like to know the names of the Slytherins who put bubotuber puss in your dragon-hide gloves, please." He said. Though his words were kind enough, he was sure to use a certain cold finality that left no doubt he wanted answers. Her hand stopped rubbing lotion into it's companion, and he looked over to inspect it. Completely covered in lotion. "A moment then." He offered, and went to search for some bandages. They weren't exactly hard to find. When he returned, the young Miss Cook seemed to have composed herself a bit better.  
  
"W-what will you do? You're a S-Slytherin too! I bet y-you just want to gloat with them!" She accused. Demitrius sighed, and began to remove the bandages from their packaging.  
  
"A stereo-type is a very evil thing Miss Cook." He said quietly, looking at the bandages in his hand. Then his eyes snapped over to hers, and in them was nothing but cold, calculating finality. "Now, you will tell me their names, or I will have to find it out another way. And if I have to find it out another way, my mood will be most unpleasant." He told her darkly. She gulped, moving back a little in her seat, and her lower lip began to tremble even more fiercely.  
  
"R-Ramon Finly a-and A-Arnold Ross." She stuttered out. Demitrius nodded curtly, then lifted her cream-coated hand from the wrist, and began to carefully wrap bandages around it. He made a point not to look at her face. Either she was crying even harder, or glaring at him now, or even worse, simpering. Yuck. Instead he focused on properly wrapping her swollen appendage. Demi had never had any sort of real knack for medicine or healing. His bedside manner alone left many people in fits of tears or rage, but he'd made it a point to learn the basics, without delving into the magical side of it. Bandages, ointments, Demi liked things he could touch and see. Not that he was uncomfortable with magic. He was certainly no squib! But, he had no real love of what was, in his father's words, 'fancy wand-waving nonsense.'  
  
He did a fair job on the bandaging, and only looked at her when he had finished at last. "Wash out both your gloves, hmm? And head back to class." He told her. She bolted as if her life depended on it, out through the door and down the corridor, and Demi briefly wondered if she would be back in a few moments after smashing into a wall. When now loud 'bang' or cry of pain filled his ears, he replaced the bandages and cream in their proper areas and positions, and left.  
  
~  
  
Snape scowled down at his third-year Hufflepuff/Gryffindor Potions class. In his mind, there couldn't be a more disastrous combination of people. Between the Gryffindors' stubborn pride and misplaced bravado, and the Hufflepuffs' almost complete terror of him, not a lot was going to get done. That, and the simpering houses seemed to get along fairly well, which meant far too much chit-chat and giggling for his taste. "Mr Oscot, that will be ten points from Gryffindor, and do not let me catch you flaunting your vulgar sexuality across my classroom again." He snapped, at a startled looking boy, who had been mouthing a message to a Hufflepuff girl across the room. Snape was in an even fouler mood than usual today. He had been told nothing, absolutely nothing, about that strange incident involving a Slytherin boy and Miss-er, Professor Granger the day before. What was worse, he hadn't even been able to recognise the injured body floating next to his colleague, and after doing a full house-count, had found no one missing. It was annoying him to no end!  
  
"Ah, Severus, strict as always I see." Snape's head snapped up at the sound of Dumbledore's voice, and he saw the headmaster, standing placidly in the doorway to his classroom. "A word, if I may?" He asked. Snape nodded, stalking over to the entrance. Before he left he whirled and fixed every pupil in the room with a very icy sneer.  
  
"If there is a single toe out of line when I return, you'll find yourselves doing detentions for the next eighty years of your life." He snapped. Then he followed Albus out, slamming the door shut firmly behind him.  
  
Dumbledore gave Snape a somewhat reprimanding look, but said nothing. He was wiser than to interfere in the way Snape taught his classes. His younger colleague's voice had lost a considerable amount of edge when he spoke again at last. "Albus, what can I do for you?" He asked smoothly. Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"I've come to talk to you about yesterday's... incident." Dumbledore explained. Only the brief flicker across Severus' expression betrayed his interest in the matter. He cleared his throat, straightening a bit.  
  
"Oh?" He asked impassively. Dumbledore smiled and began to deliver the edited version of Demitrius' story. He was fairly to-the-point about it, and finished off with asking Severus to kindly work up a schedule for the boy, perhaps pairing him off with another fifth-year to give him some assistance. During the course of the headmaster's explanation, Snape's interest had peaked. The boy was from the future? My, my, that presented some interesting opportunities, didn't it? Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face as he agreed to make the schedule, because Dumbledore fixed him with a very firm gaze.  
  
"I must ask you to remember, Severus, that meddling with the future is a dangerous task. Don't ask the boy too many questions he shouldn't answer, hmm?" He both ordered and advised at the same time. Snape cursed his luck. He couldn't very well disobey Albus Dumbledore, now could he? The man had his loyalty after all. Still, he'd only been instructed not to ask 'too many' questions. Which left a little leeway, didn't it?  
  
When Severus Snape re-entered his classroom, he was in a considerably brighter mood. Well, for him anyway. Which meant that he only took another thirty points off of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff all tolled. By the end of class he was almost as anxious for the bell as the students were. It was his fifth-year Slytherins/Ravenclaws next. Possibly the more relaxing combinations of houses. The Slytherins were, of course, almost perfect, and the Ravenclaws had a natural affinity for not getting in the way. They just read and brewed and rarely spoke. But today was slightly more important, as now he could pick out an appropriate fifth-year to match his time-traveller to. He pondered this as he prepared for the next class. Someone sly, most definitely, but also easily intimidated by Snape himself. Not too hard to get along with either. Information from the future... Albus Dumbledore was too chivalrous to use it, but Snape had never been plagued by heroism himself. It might give them one more step over Voldemort. Well, depending on what the boy knew, of course. His brows furrowed darkly. It would be a complete waste if he turned out to be another blockhead like Crabbe or Goyle.  
  
"Ah, same place." Yet another voice at his doorway drew Snape's gaze upwards, and he started in surprise at the sight of the very person he'd been contemplating. The boy stood in the doorway, his robes falling loosely around him, an impassive expression on his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind something was trying to click together. The youth looked oddly familiar. Drawing away from his thoughts, Snape cleared his throat, and fixed him with a speculative gaze.  
  
"Is there something you wanted, Mr Septimus?" He asked. Dumbledore had given him the boy's name before he left. Demitrius looked at Snape calmly, his face unmarred by any tell-tale emotions. A very careful mask. Snape recognised it instantly for what it was; He wore one like it himself quite often. Demitrius' gaze stayed on Snape for a little longer before he said anything.  
  
"Just thought I would look around the dungeons. Wondered if the classroom would be in the same place." He elaborated smoothly. Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It would be some minutes before the fifth-years would make their way down. Why not speak to the boy of the future until then? He opened his mouth, but before he could get out a comment, Demitrius was speaking. "I was wondering, do you know where I could find two third-year Slytherins named Finly and Ross?" He asked. Snape evaluated the question rather suspiciously.  
  
"Why?" He asked. He knew of the pair, pranksters to be sure, but nowhere near as bad as those Weasley twins had been. What would Septimus want with them? How did he even know them? The boy smiled charmingly.  
  
"I've gotten wind of a particularly interesting prank the two pulled, and wanted to talk to them about it." He said. "Until classes start tomorrow, there won't be much for me to do, will there?" The explanation made sense, but Snape could smell deception a mile away. And this boy was almost bathed in it. Everything about him was suspicious, from his masked face, to his honey-coated words. There was something eerily familiar about it that was beginning to drive the Potions Master mad. It was like seeing a face you knew you'd seen before, but being completely unable to figure out where. Snape drew himself up to his full foreboding height. Slytherins did not fear him as the other houses often did, for he was their Head of House after all, but they still had the proper doses of respect for him. Still could be intimidated. The boy quirked an eyebrow at the older man's actions, and something tugged the corners of his mouth, before he forced the look away. Snape scowled. He found this amusing?!? His mouth twisted into a snarl.  
  
"I'm afraid, Mr Septimus, that I do not keep track of every student's movement from dawn 'till dusk." Snape informed him coldly. Demitrius sighed unhappily.  
  
"Ah well, I suppose it can wait. Thank you for your time Professor." He said, and with a swirl of black robes and a flash of green, he was gone.  
  
~  
  
Demitrius found himself roaming the halls of Hogwarts after leaving the dungeons, trying to focus on little things, subtle differences. It helped keep his mind off of darker thoughts. So did finding those two little punks, he realised, though even that task came dangerously close to dredging up hurtful memories. Mostly he occupied his thoughts with interesting tidbits of information, or else musings on how to subtly change the future.  
  
A few things were easier to figure out than others. For example, noticing that the portrait of two maidens riding unicorns was currently on the first level, while in his time it was on the second, was considerably easier than thinking about how to keep Ron Weasley from going to Hogsmeade a year from now. Wondering if the Slytherin Common Room would have that large chair which liked to gossip was easier than thinking about the fact that everything and everyone who knew him was gone, or hadn't met him yet, since he wasn't even born. Musing on the interesting knowledge that Peeves seemed to have always been at Hogwarts was vastly better than thinking about how, in less than two decades, all of this would be destroyed. Unless he could stop it. But then, how could he beat Voldemort? For in the end that was what it came down to, wasn't it? He could save lives all he wanted, Dumbledore would still die of old age, and who knew if Potter would be enough? Would anything be enough? Oh, look at that, Flitwick was still teaching. Mustn't have retired yet.  
  
Demi continued to wander until he reached the DADA classroom. He wondered why McGonagall had sent him to this time. Why not back to when Voldemort was born? Ordinarily, he might would issues with killing an infant, but in this case he could probably make an exception. Maybe she hadn't been sure what time he would go back to? The whole plan had seemed very last-minute, rushed beyond belief even, but then that was a Gryffindor for you.  
  
"...While a vampire would probably be more likely to kill you, if he doesn't finish you off, you'll find yourself sharing the same fate..." Demitrius turned to look at the entrance to the DADA classroom. The door was open a crack, and he could just make out Hermione's shoulder, as she gestured towards the diagram of a vampire behind her. "...There is no way to change you back into a human once this has happened." She continued. Demitrius blinked. That wasn't true! If you administered a cleansing potion to rid your blood of the virus transferred by the vampire two hours after being bitten, you could still be saved. There were, of course, a few lingering side-effects. He shook his head in confusion. Why would she lie.? Then he froze, his eyes widening imperceptibly. Of course! The potion hadn't been invented yet! He fought the urge to mash a fist into his own head. 'Well, that was utterly moronic of you.' He thought angrily. There must be dozens of potions, charms, and wards he knew about that weren't... even... created yet...  
  
Demitrius snapped his fingers sharply, a smirk of triumph stretching across his features. Of course! He was seven-bloody-teen years ahead of the opposition. That was how he would beat Voldemort. That was how he would change time. Information, spells, he could move things miles in a matter of minutes. 'Thank you, Mother.' He thought gratefully at the unwitting source of his inspiration. Then he turned full circle, heading the direction of the library. Or, at least he direction it was in, seventeen years from now. They wouldn't change it, would they? That would be a great deal of books to move without a good reason.  
  
The library's location was the same, and Demitrius was greatly relieved for it. He looked around. It seemed... Smaller, somehow. Not much different beyond that. Madam Pince could be heard bustling about in the vast lines of shelving, somewhere in the restricted section. There seemed to be no one else present beyond her. Of course, there were classes going on. He focused his gaze on a row of tables. As he'd hoped, there was an ample supply of parchment and quills, ready to be used by students in need of making quick notes. Carefully he stalked over to a table and seated himself. He made a point not to be noisy, he didn't want that crone of a librarian breathing down his neck, asking questions as to why he was out of class.  
  
Not now. Now, he needed to begin making notes. There would be a few spells and potions that popped to mind off the bat. Others, he would need to check recent books for, to see if they'd been invented yet. A list was mandatory. He looked at the battered public quill with distaste. It was nowhere near the sleek, elegant quality of his raven-feather one. Demitrius clamped on his thoughts quickly, but not before a painful image squeezed it's way through.  
  
A young boy, with straight, shoulder-length blonde hair handed him a parcel, wrapped in silver paper. "Happy Christmas Demi." He said, as all around them their fellow Slytherins performed similar acts. Occasionally punctuating them with fights and petty theft, of course. Demitrius handed the boy a similar gift, and opened his own to reveal a stunning, ebony black quill.  
  
He banished the image as soon as it floated upwards. No. He couldn't think about that, now wasn't the time. 'What was the name of that cleansing potion for vampire bites, again?' He thought instead. 'Ah, yes, the Nosferitia Banisher.' Quickly he scribbled down the name. Briefly Demi wondered If he should try and list the ingredients, but decided that could wait until after he had his list done. Carefully he jotted down a few other things to do with anti-vampire magic. Which, in turn, made his mind wander to werewolves. He quickly noted everything he could on that subject. The developments there were recent, even for his own time.  
  
Demitrius soon found himself cataloguing each item with either 'spell' or 'potion' next to their name, to insure he could quickly discern one from the other. The list was about a foot long before he decided it was time to open a book. As he stood, his stomach made a protest, and he realised suddenly that he was quite hungry. After all, he hadn't eaten since...  
  
He glanced at the clocks that lined the library walls. Ignoring the ones that obviously had to do with library business, he finally focused on a rather large clock. The hour hand was pointing at 'Stop studying and get some lunch'. Ah, perfect. He could sit at the Slytherin table then. And while his fellows whispered and questioned him, he could see about finding Finly and Ross.  
  
Demitrius carefully tucked his list into one of the inner pockets of his robes, and made his way out. The corridors were beginning to fill with students making their way to the dining hall. He followed suit, earning a few curious glances here and there, but for the most part nothing. Only a very perceptive Slytherin or someone there the day he appeared would find something odd about a fifth year heading down for lunch.  
  
Of course, once he reached the dining hall, every eye at the staff table searched for him. He paused. McGonagall sat, as alive and precise as every, scrutinising the Slytherin table carefully. Demitrius shook off the decidedly creepy feeling that crept up his spine. It was different, as he had just seen her desperate and dying only yesterday.  
  
Instead he looked at the Slytherin table. There were plenty of free seats, he noted. With careful indifference he chose one close to the end, sitting next to no one, and performed the customary ritual of waiting silently for lunch to be served. Usually he would be on the other side, so he could see the Gryffindor table...  
  
'Stop.' He firmly instructed his mind. 'Not now, not ever. Don't remember.' It was so important he be detached, he had to keep a firm leash on any emotions. Not something he usually had problems with. 'Try and focus on finding those two boys.' He thought instead. His eyes swept over the table. Of course, he wouldn't know what they looked like, but it didn't help to keep a mental record of faces.  
  
"You Demitrius Septimus?" A voice, thick and blunt, asked from behind. Demi shifted ever-so-slightly in his seat. A burly fifth or sixth year stood at his left. He had a head like a steel bucket, with a squashed nose, and two very beady brown eyes. A mane of light brown hair was plastered to his skull. He definitely didn't look the intelligent sort.  
  
"Yes, I am." He answered curtly. "Who are you?"  
  
"Brutus Fitsgibbons, fifth year prefect, and Slytherin's Keeper." The boy announced, sticking out a meaty hand to be shaken. Demitrius eyed it with a slight snarl of disgust, before taking it into his own, much more slender one.  
  
"Ah. Delightful." He replied, with no small trace of sarcasm. It was lost on Brutus, who abruptly took a seat next to Demi. The chair creaked and groaned under the young man's weight. Which was, to his credit, mostly muscle. Demitrius would have ordinarily moved to another seat at this point. However, it was wiser to stay, and weedle what information he could out of this prefect. He briefly marvelled at the fact that someone so seemingly dense had managed to achieve the position. Until he remembered that he was Slytherin, of course, and had likely beaten his homework out of some unsuspecting Ravenclaw.  
  
"I'll be showing you to your classes tomorrow." Brutus continued, seemingly oblivious to the intense, negative scrutiny he was receiving. "Is it true you're from the future?" He asked suddenly. Demitrius fought the urge to strike him for his pathetic bluntness. No tact at all.  
  
"Yes." He answered curtly. It was a habit of his to only truly converse with people he found agreeable. Brutus grunted in what was either amazement, or some air gone down the wrong pipe. Demitrius found it hard to tell which.  
  
"Snape says I can't ask about it. Heard Dumbledore's planning to introduce you at dinner, though." He was informed. It was blatantly obvious that Brutus hoped to gain some insight into his own destiny through Demitrius. 'Hopes for future fame and glory, world renowned I bet.' He thought darkly. Then he cast a side-ways glance at the young man. 'Probably dies in a few years anyway, or joins Voldemort. One of the two. More than likely the latter.'  
  
"Hmm, say, you wouldn't happen to know two boys named Finly and Ross would you?" Demitrius asked casually. Brutus blinked.  
  
"Sure, they're those two second-years over there, at the end of the table." He provided, and pointed. Demitrius followed his gaze. It fixed on two young men, one fairly dark in colouring, with short curly hair. The other looked like he'd been pulled through a meat-grinder quite recently. There were two diagonal scars along his cheek, and a dent in his nose, so it looked to have been broken at least once. Such an appearance in a second- year was uncommon even in his time. "Finly there's been in a few scrapes with his older brothers, I heard, that's why he looks so terrible."  
  
An interesting statement from someone who would have made a passable dump- truck. Still, it answered one question of his. "Why d'ya wanna know?" Brutus inquired. 'Well, now, that's the question you ask before you answer, isn't it?' Demitrius thought condescendingly. What did his father take him for, assigning this oaf to 'show him the ropes'? Some rich snot who only wanted dumb, muscled body-guards? He would bet serious money that Brutus wouldn't last two minutes in a fight with him, wands or no wands.  
  
"Just curious, I heard their names going around." He provided. Brutus let out a rather unpleasant guffaw.  
  
"Oh, you must have heard about that trick they played on Cook. She had the nerve to call them a couple of slimy bastards after they played a little joke on her kid brother! I tell you, it was priceless, those two are a real pair of bastards." Brutus said playfully.  
  
"Indeed." Demitrius agreed over his continued laughter. He was about to say more, when something caught his attention, and he froze like a statue. A man, no older than twenty-five perhaps, had entered the Dining Hall alongside Dumbledore. He dressed in stately robes of black and green, his hands covered in gloves, and his nose high in the air. Blonde hair was slicked back to his skull, and his features were oddly sharp and angular. What little colour was left in Demi's face fled. The hair was too short, the time was all wrong, but the face and the chilling eyes were unmistakable.  
  
"Marcus?" He breathed in disbelief. Brutus looked at him in confusion.  
  
"No, no, that's Draco Malfoy. I wonder why he's here?" He said thoughtfully. An ugly smirk crept up his face. "Maybe come to give old Dumbledore the boot!" He suggested, as though it were the grandest thing in the world. Demitrius' shock quickly melted away. It was replaced by pure, cold hatred instead, that nestled itself into his stomach. Draco Malfoy. So, this was Marcus' father then.  
  
So, this was the man who had killed his mother, then.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: And that's chapter two, folks. Hope you liked it, and don't forget to review! :D Chapter three is when we'll start to see some real action between Sev and Hermione, I just don't want to rush things, so hope you don't mind bearing with me. Shout-outs are below!  
  
Witchy-grrl: Heheh, I updated, see? Glad you liked the start! Sorry if Demi's not telling Herm and Sev who he was disappointed you, and yeah, tough luck with Harry. But hopefully that won't be happening a second time 'round.  
  
Slytherin Girl: Quick enough? ^_^  
  
ernie000: Glad I could break the trend of hatred for ya, and hope I didn't disappoint with Ch. 2  
  
pigwidgeon37: Thanks a bunch! It's good to know Demi's believable, and thanks for the encouragement, I'll do everything I can to keep this fic from going under.  
  
RoseFyre: You got it, and thanks.  
  
Ktie Eiknlng Snape: The support is much appreciated. Interesting name, by the way. :D  
  
Dark Willow: Ooh, such kind words, thanks! I'm glad you think the story's original.  
  
CaNtOaNgEl: It's great to know someone else found the image of Snape wandering angrily around amusing, hope you enjoyed chapter two.  
  
Potionsgurl: Many thanks! I've noticed Snape and Hermione seem to have a tendency to produce female offspring too. Glad I could bend the stereo- type a little there! :D  
  
claribel: Thanks for enjoying the story! I'm happy you think it seems a little different, I was hoping to pull that off.  
  
Nicolette: ^_^ Thanks for the support, and for being my first reviewer. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: :D Baaack! Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter two, I'm glad it went over so well. Beth Ann kindly told me I'd had my settings put so that I didn't accept anonymous reviews, but that's fixed now, and I'd like to apologise. Anyway, on with the story!  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione cursed her luck as the last of her students left for lunch, watching the Gryffindors' backs as they all milled out of her classroom, talking cheerfully. Today was quite possibly one of the most horrendous days she'd had in a long time, without someone dying of course, and she still hadn't gotten her notes back from Snape's office. How revolting. She would have to seek him out after she'd had her lunch, or maybe even speak with him at the staff table. He wouldn't be in the greatest of moods. After all, he'd probably spent hours searching the castle, only to find out later there was nothing there. Provided Dumbledore had filled him in already.  
  
If he hadn't that, then it would be even worse. 'Just what was going on yesterday, Professor Granger?' He'd likely hiss at her as they ate, throwing her dark looks. And then she'd have to avoid giving him an answer and simultaneously ask for access to his office. She drew in a quick breath. Oh boy would he hate that. Probably think she was trying to spy on him, or something equally unpleasant. 'Well, what can you do, Hermione? You need those notes.' Another part of her brain told her, and she had to agree. Without them she couldn't continue with their plan.  
  
"No use in procrastinating. I'll just ask him at lunch." She told herself forcefully. Time to show a little of that Gryffindor bravery. Straightening out, she flung a stray lock of thick brown hair back, and made her way to the main hall. She wasn't out of the door for more than a minute before she stopped dead in her tracks. There, going down the hallway, was Albus Dumbledore. And he was being tailed by Draco Malfoy. Hermione's eyes narrowed. Why was Malfoy here? Everyone knew he was working for Voldemort. Well, except those blind gluttons in the Ministry, who seemed to think his job as an auror was more than just a pathetic guise. Or, at the very least, didn't care what it was as long as his family kept pumping bribe money their way.  
  
It didn't take long for Malfoy and Dumbledore to notice her, too. The look of annoyance that was only barely visible on Dumbledore's face changed to worry when he saw her. Malfoy's features also darkened. 'Well, can't blame them, it's not like it would be entirely out of character for me to slap him a few times.' She thought darkly. As was expected, Malfoy's glare soon turned into a sharp sneer. It was almost pathetic it was so predictable.  
  
"Granger." He spat darkly. Hermione made certain her hand was hovering within reach of her wand.  
  
"Malfoy." She said, with an equal amount of dark vehemence. The blonde man sneered, his eyes flitting over her as he sized her up.  
  
"I see your still riding on Dumbledore's good graces. Not that herding unruly children is a task below a woman of such... Unfortunate parentage as yourself." He told her viciously. Hermione felt her cheeks go red with anger. Over the years, young Draco's skill with insults had grown less blunt, as he found tact to be a useful ally. But the meaning was still there. He may as well have called her a mudblood for all she cared.  
  
"Watch what you say to me, Malfoy, it would be a shame to wind up in Azkaban after killing a lowlife like you." She hissed back. He opened his mouth to retort, but right then, Dumbledore seemed to decide that a duel in a hallway teeming with students was likely not wise. And indeed, Hermione realised, many of her pupils had stopped to watch the scene. They stood in slack-jawed silence, obviously amazed at seeing their professor behave so contemptuously to such a high-ranking wizard.  
  
"That will be enough Professor." Dumbledore told her lightly. She flinched a little. It made her feel guilty, like she was some errant school-child again. But, of course, the headmaster's attention did not focus on her alone. He shot Malfoy a very reprimanding look. "I believe, Mr. Malfoy, that your discussion was with me." He said firmly. After a few more minutes, during which Draco and Hermione glared at each other as though it was the last thing they would do, Malfoy finally cracked. With a nod to Dumbledore the two continued on their way to the main hall.  
  
'Why is Malfoy here?' Hermione wondered, her rage calming at his departure. She shook her head. 'I'll just have to ask Dumbledore after he leaves.' She reasoned. Around her, the students were beginning to move away, returning to the business of heading down to lunch. Hermione sighed. Would she have to eat at the same table as Malfoy? Not a pleasant thought in the least. She pondered some brief avenue of escape. At least something to keep her busy for a while, give her an excuse to avoid going to lunch right away, although even with one there wouldn't be many who couldn't figure out what she was doing. Suddenly, an idea came to her, and she snapped her fingers triumphantly at the realisation. Snape! He was usually a bit late in leaving his dungeons for lunch. Maybe, she could catch him, and get her notes if she left right now. On the one hand, it was still a horribly humiliating thought. On the other, it was a hell of a lot better than lunch with Malfoy.  
  
Her mind made up, Hermione re-directed her course towards the dungeons. She walked as quickly as she could without looking conspicuous. Never before had she found herself chanting the mantra 'let Snape be there, let Snape be there', but right then, she was. And meaning it as well! Her heeled boots clicked loudly against the stone floor as she walked. Gradually, the throngs of students began to thin out, as she neared the dungeons. Hermione rounded a corner, and almost plowed straight into Severus Snape himself. She swallowed back a sharp squeak of surprise.  
  
"Professor Snape!" She said, a little too loudly for her liking, and winced as her own slightly squeaky voice sounded in her ears. Maybe lunch with Malfoy wouldn't be as bad as she thought...  
  
"What is it?" He snapped back, fixing her with a particularly annoyed look. It was fairly obvious he'd been lost in thought before she came into sight. Hermione frowned. He was far more rude to her than he was to any other teacher, so much so that she found it incredibly degrading. Forgetting her previous insecurities she straightened out and fixed him with her sternest look. Which meant, naturally, that she looked almost freakishly like McGonagall.  
  
"I believe I left my notes from our discussion the other day in your office. I was wondering if you could let me in to retrieve them?" She asked, doing her best not to sound like an ashamed student. Snape fixed her with a very thorough stare for a few seconds. His dark eyes hovered over her form briefly, and just as she was beginning to wonder what he was looking at, he turned on his heels with a swish and headed back down to the dungeons. Taking that as a sign, Hermione followed after him. He hadn't made any snide remarks or comments yet. Ordinarily she would be immensely grateful, but as she watched his dark robes swirling just a few centimetres before her, she realised he probably planned to turn on her at any moment. That would be just like him, wouldn't it? Make her think he was just going to let her get the notes, and then catch her off guard, with some incredibly degrading comment about responsibility and such? He'd turn on her with that dark scowl. It would stretch into a sneer as she walked past, and just when she couldn't see his face anymore, that's when he'd make the comment. Dark, deep voice rumbling out to fray her nerves and... when had she started thinking about his behaviour so much?  
  
"Professor?" Her eyes flew up as Snape said her name with the usual doses of distaste. With a start she realised they were standing outside his office. He held the door open for her, waiting with mocking grace to let her pass through. Retaining her dignity with an admirable flare, Hermione nodded her thanks and walked in.  
  
Much as she hated the man who worked there, Hermione had to admit she loved his office. It was an open, rectangular room, which stretched forward to end with a dark ebony desk. The space was wide enough for three people to walk side-by-side with only a little difficulty. The air in the room had a spicy, heady aroma, a bit like the scent of books but mixed with an undeniable sharpness. At first glance, it would be hard to tell the workspace from a storeroom, were it not for the desk at the end. And, of course, the cauldron just behind it. On either wall, up to the roof, were thick black shelves lined with bottles and boxes of the most fascinating ingredients. Things Snape didn't even like to keep in his special storeroom. Each item was labelled precisely, stored in alphabetical order, and facing forward so that the Potions Master's neat script was clearly visible. A thin veil of steam still clung to the air above their heads, coming from the cauldron at the back of the room. The potion they had been working on was simmering, before they would add the diced trolls' eyes and a few other unpleasant items.  
  
In contrast to the neat order of the shelves was the uncanny chaos on Snape's desk. There were papers and notes strewn everywhere. Even so, it didn't take Hermione long to find her own work. While her print was tiny, compressed, and made with neat little strokes, every other piece of parchment on the table was covered in Snape's bold scrawls.  
  
The man himself waited by the door as she swept her notes up into her arms. Quickly, she glanced at the potion they had started yesterday. It was as clear and translucent as water, but definitely thicker, as the gassy bubbles that stretched from it's surface indicated. Perfect. By the time they were done, it would be the colour of a clear sky, and would taste like regurgitated mushroom soup. "Is something wrong?" Snape asked testily, as he watched her pause to scrutinise their work. Hermione shook her head and made her way back over to him.  
  
"No, nothing at all, just checking." She supplied. Then she braced herself, waiting for the inevitable 'Well, then, I'm glad it meets your approval, Professor. Seeing as how I couldn't bare not to meet your incredibly high standards, as I am only the lowly Potions Master after all, and it can't be expected for someone like me to know how to care for such things.' That he would surely spit with venomous sarcasm.  
  
"And?" He said. Hermione paused.  
  
"What?" She asked, confused by the lack of snapping or bitter sarcasm to his voice. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.  
  
"And, what was your opinion, Professor Granger?" He supplied with more detail. Now, this was a situation Hermione was completely unprepared for. He wasn't snapping at her, wasn't being sarcastic, was making no threats, and had yet to say a single degrading thing about her actions. She fought the overwhelming urge to check and see if he had a fever. Realising that he was waiting for a reply, his eyes fixed expectantly upon her, Hermione hastily drew away from her own amazement.  
  
"It's fine, of course. Clear but thick and steaming nicely." She told him, a bit dazed. 'Maybe he's being civil on purpose, to throw me off my guard.' Her thoughts provided. He nodded in agreement to her statement, and it was then that she noticed, he seemed to be very deep in contemplation. 'Of course! He's just distracted, that's all. He must be thinking about Demitrius.' She realised, and berated herself for not seeing it sooner. Why else would he miss an opportunity to humiliate her? 'Severus Snape being decent on purpose. Quit dreaming Hermione.' Her brain told herself, and she was surprised to find just the tiniest, smallest twinge of disappointment lying there.  
  
"Very well. We'll continue our progress tomorrow after classes then." He instructed. Then, leaving her to stand with her thoughts, he departed distractedly. Hermione watched him go quietly. Well, one thing hadn't changed, he still didn't bother to wait for her answer. 'I could have plans for tomorrow!' She thought darkly. 'Well, I don't, but I could have.'  
  
~  
  
Demitrius fought hard to keep from looking at Draco Malfoy, to keep from wondering what it would be like to crush his neck beneath his boot, or raise his wand and shout 'crucio' at the top of his lungs. Brutus Fitsgibbons seemed completely ignorant of the somewhat bloody and violent thoughts his new 'friend' was trying to suppress, and was barking out crude comments about several of the fifth year girls, and their new 'developments'. Demitrius ignored this, as well as his constant, annoying references to Quidditch. He was focusing hard on maintaining control. Outwardly, this showed very little. Perhaps in they way his jaw clenched, and his dark eyes darted over to Malfoy, as the older man stood talking to Dumbledore while he ate. Inwardly, Demitrius had rarely felt so at a loss of control. His nerves were frayed by this unexpected presence. Images were floating to mind, glimpses of painful memories, before he managed to slam down on them hard and lock them away. Before he could regain his inner composure.  
  
He violently shoved all thoughts of Draco and Marcus Malfoy from his mind and wrenched his eyes away from the staff table. Such things could be dealt with later, but if he kept on his current course, he would more than likely cause a scene. He didn't even notice when his father entered the main hall, and balked at the sight of Malfoy. Silently Demitrius finished eating his lunch. He didn't spare Brutus a glance as he ate cleanly, but quickly, and then stood from the table. Without a word he left the dining hall.  
  
Not knowing the password for the Slytherin Common Room, Demitrius headed for the library instead. Madam Pince was at lunch still, so he didn't worry about making noise anymore, as he walked over to a nearby table and firmly slammed a fist down on it. The sound echoed loudly. Pleasingly. A single violent act, and Demitrius felt some of the pent-up tension flee. He sank into a chair at the table and practically wrenched his list from the inner pocket of his robes. Work. 'Work on changing it, and try to forget.' He instructed himself. 'Think of ways of punishing that Finly and Ross pair, come up with insults for that new mound of flesh assigned to follow you, do anything but remember.'  
  
And he did. The rest of the lunch hour came and went unnoticed, as Demitrius came up with his plan for the two 'pranksters', mentally referred to Brutus Fitsgibbons as 'that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect', and scanned through books on potions, charms, transfiguration, wards, and incantations to see what was recent. Often he found himself looking up names that didn't exist, and smiling in triumph when he failed to find them. Madam Pince discovered him soon enough, and had the nerve to peer over his shoulder, but didn't ask any questions. When she saw what he was doing Demitrius barely noticed her giving him a scrutinising look. Of course, what he was doing probably did seem a bit crazy. It looked like he was just making up names. But the librarian said nothing, and eventually shuffled away quietly.  
  
It wasn't until the last classes of the day finished, and students began to come in for studying and such, that Demi finally put an end to his list. He'd only been able to come up with three new things in the last hour anyway. Carefully he replaced the books in their proper spots and tucked his list away again. 'Now, where to?' He wondered. Had he been in a proper state of mind when he left the main hall, he would have thought to ask that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect for the password to the Common Room. But in the circumstances he had forgotten.  
  
Now that he had regained some of his composure, however, he could look at things with a keener eye. He shouldn't have fled so soon. Staying put and trying to figure out what Malfoy wanted, grilling Brutus for further information, that would have been the wise thing to do. But, like some pathetic infant, he had fled. "Demitrius!"  
  
Demi turned as he heard his name being called, to see Hermione Granger headed his way. She clasped a stack of books in her arms tightly. "Hello Demitrius, how are you managing?" Hermione said politely as she came up to him. Dumbledore's words about how she should make him feel welcome must have been swimming through her head.  
  
"Fine, thank you." He replied carefully. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know who that blonde man at lunch today was?" Demitrius asked. Of course, he knew the answer, but he wanted a little more information than that. 'Like, say, where he lives...' Part of him thought darkly. 'Stop it, brain, I'm working.' His other half berated his more emotional side. Meanwhile, Hermione was looking like she had just swallowed something fairly nasty.  
  
"That would be Draco Malfoy. He's an auror for the Ministry, but really, everyone knows it's just a cover and that he really works for You-Know- Who." She told him, and Demitrius nodded politely, as if this was all new information. So, he had already started his work as an auror. Mentally he ransacked his brain for information on the man, while carefully avoiding dredging up feelings or memories with regards to Marcus. That was a door best left shut, locked, and bolted for as long as possible. "I don't know what he was doing here, but it can't be anything good. Professor Dumbledore certainly didn't look pleased about it." Hermione continued thoughtfully.  
  
'Damn!' Demitrius thought. So, she didn't know why he was here, either. Possibly only Dumbledore did, and that would be no help. Demitrius would have a hard time tricking that particular wizard into giving him answers. "I see. Thank you, Professor." He said, before nodding and leaving the library. Perhaps if he headed down to the dungeons he might find his father or that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect, and they could give him the password to the Common Room. He had a scheme to see through with regards to Ross and Finly.  
  
~  
  
"With your job on the edge of a knife, Dumbledore, you had better tell me what that explosion of Dark Magic we picked up on was." Draco Malfoy said, hissing it at Albus Dumbledore, who was currently ignoring him and eating his lunch. The insufferably old man had only insisted that there was no danger, and refused to tell Malfoy any more. It was infuriating. Especially after they had run into that Granger woman in the halls. Pathetic. Mudbloods teaching classes! It was worse than having them attend as students, and especially since that wretched woman was teaching DADA. If it weren't for the fact that parents put such faith in Dumbledore, the Malfoys would have had him cleared out in no time flat, and replaced with someone who had their priorities in the right spot.  
  
Dumbledore raised a hand to gesture to a seat next to himself. "Why don't you have a seat Mr. Malfoy?" He suggested. Malfoy waved a hand in disgust.  
  
"To hell with niceties old man! There was a very high concentration of evil magic used, here, in this school, just earlier today. Now what was it?!?" He demanded. That magic had been strong, strong enough to have both the aurors and the Death Eaters worrying when it was reported. The Dark Lord hadn't done it. Could Albus Dumbeldore have finally broken through his pathetic moral barrier and decided to fight fire with fire? That would be bad. He Who Must Not Be Named needed to know the source of that magic, and needed to know it soon. If he came back empty-handed... Draco shuddered at the thought of feeling his body wracked with pain, writhing on the floor as his fellows laughed at his misery.  
  
"I will tell you again, Mr. Malfoy, the source of the magic has passed and it no longer poses a threat. That was enough for your fellows." Dumbledore said, and though it was not apparent, there was a certain tone to his voice that indicated he would endure no further scrutiny from Malfoy. Draco looked away in frustration and disgust. As he did, his eyes swept over to the Slytherin table. A young man was moving from his seat towards the exit. He looked a bit familiar, but Malfoy couldn't quite place him. 'Probably one of our own's children.' He thought as the boy moved. Then, just as he was about to look away, the young figure glanced in his direction.  
  
Draco had been looked at with utter contempt before. Potter, Weasley, Granger, and pretty much any other Gryffindor who crossed his path had shot him looks very much like the one he was receiving now. What was truly disconcerting was that this look came from a Slytherin. And even in just a fleeting moment, it sang of a deep, dark hatred. Malfoy paused. Why would that boy hate him? Someone whom he had never met before? Yet, there was still such a feeling of familiarity, something about the way he walked... Without a word Malfoy left Dumbledore's side in haste. This was turning out to be a most peculiar situation. And, he had a feeling it had something to do with that boy. 'Perhaps he is related to the spy Father has been searching for.' He thought suddenly, as he made his way stormily to the nearest fireplace. That would explain the utter hatred in his eyes.  
  
Draco clutched a handful of floo powder, wishing vehemently that his fellow Death Eaters would hurry up and find a way to apparate to and from Hogwarts. He hated travelling by chimney. If that boy was related to the spy, then finding out who he was, would lead them to their internal leak. And that little discovery would get the Malfoys back in the Dark Lord's good graces soon enough. A cold smile crept up Draco's lips. Find the boy's identity, and you find the spy's. He had some digging to do.  
  
~  
  
Broken bits of Malfoy's conversation with Dumbledore drifted down to Snape, as he took his seat at the table. Until now he had been thinking almost entirely about Demitrius, trying to place the boy, to put his finger on what was so familiar about him. No matter how he tried he couldn't pin down what it was. Snape glanced curiously over to where his former favourite student was currently hissing at the headmaster, a murderous look in his eyes. No doubt here about the unexplained use of a powerful time- travel device, and the presence of high concentrations of Dark Magic. Much as he hated to admit it, Draco Malfoy had turned out just as badly as his father, and was a pitiably bad spy. Even most of the students could see right through him.  
  
Snape grabbed a chicken and ham sandwich off of a nearby platter and ate it thoughtfully, pulling his gaze away from Malfoy and over to the Slytherin table. Demitrius Septimus was completely ignoring Fitsgibbons and eating his food so quickly one might think he was rushing. Snape had hoped that the burly prefect would be disarmingly stupid, enough so that Septimus might not feel at all worried about letting something slip, but it seemed that his little plan wasn't working. The boy finished off the last of his meal and then rose, whisking out of the main hall quickly but elegantly. Again something tried to connect in Snape's mind. The swirl of the robes, the head held high, the brisk pace. Who did the boy remind him of?  
  
Just as Demi was about to step out of sight, Snape noticed his eyes flicker over to something. Then, like a flash, the boy had stalked off out of sight. Snape followed where his gaze had wandered to see Draco Malfoy, stiff and tense, a look of confusion on his face as he stood at Dumbledore's side. Confusion? Snape's eyes narrowed. Surely, the Malfoy's wouldn't keep track of every Slytherin at Hogwarts? Or if they did, Draco himself wouldn't know them all by sight, would he? No, the boy certainly wasn't that smart. Suddenly Malfoy stormed out with much more heat and much less grace than Demitrius had. Snape scowled. There was something going on that was more than meets the eye. 'Perhaps the story about the boy being from the future is a lie. Could he be a spy for the Death Eaters? But then, why would Malfoy have looked so confused?' Snape wondered. Maybe he hadn't heard of the plan? From what he knew regarding his contacts on the inside, the Malfoys had lost their place in Voldemort's favour, falling from grace after his abandonment.  
  
He would have to keep a keener eye on young Demitrius Septimus than he had even originally planned.  
  
"How is your project with Hermione coming, Severus?" Professor Flitwick asked suddenly, with his usual chipper demeanour, as the tiny professor lifted his goblet to down some pumpkin juice. Why the other staff still tried to make conversation with him after all these years he would never know.  
  
"Quite well. Tomorrow we should be ready to administer it to the populace at Hogwarts." Snape said dryly. Flitwick nodded with a smile on his face.  
  
"She's quite brilliant, isn't she? It's so nice to have a fresh young mind teaching here now. Mind you, we need it, someone quick with their thoughts to keep the students on their toes." Flitwick continued. Snape returned his gaze to his lunch and tuned the little professor out. Well, yes, Granger was quite bright. Even he had to concede that. But she lacked the experience such a position required. Completely unseasoned, if you asked him. It was amazing the students hadn't eaten her alive yet. 'Probably too caught up in the sight of the only attractive female on staff.' He thought darkly, images of the fourth years and up ogling their pretty teacher as she went on about curses and such. Then he stopped. Where did THAT come from? Since when was Hermione Granger 'pretty' or 'attractive'? Snape's scowl darkened as Professor Flitwick continued to list his favourite student's virtues. He'd been having odd thoughts like that no and again ever since she came on staff. It was twisted, really, noticing that a former student was anything more than annoying.  
  
Carefully Snape conjured up an image of a bushy-haired, buck-toothed Hermione Granger sitting in his class, her arm so high in the air it was almost dragging her out of her seat, buck-teeth barely visible through the opening in her mouth. That did it. Snape relaxed a little as 'Professor' Granger clicked back into the appropriate position in his mind. Annoying, know-it-all Gryffindor student. "Severus? Severus?"  
  
Snape clicked back into reality as Flitwick began to say his name repeatedly. "Lost in thought, were we?" The charms expert asked, and Severus grunted in reply. "I was saying, have you seen that new student? The one who had the accident with the time-shifting device? Dumbledore's told us all he was in your house." Flitwick asked.  
  
"Yes, I have seen him. He's nothing remarkable." Snape replied, then stuffed another sandwich in his mouth, and wondered when Flitwick would talk to someone else. He would have a while to wait, he realised, as several more sets of curious eyes turned their way at the sounds of their rather one-sided conversation. Apparently, more than one person wanted to know more about Hogwarts' latest phenomenon.  
  
"Do you know if he's gone forwards or backwards?" Madam Hooch suddenly asked, leaning over towards Snape from Flitwick's other side.  
  
"Backwards." Snape said curtly, and put something else in his mouth so he would have an excuse not to talk for the next little stretch. She whistled, putting a fork through the fluffy exterior of her beef pasty purposefully.  
  
"Poor child, I wonder if he's bumped into anyone he knows?" She said thoughtfully. Then a curious glint came to her unusual yellow eyes. "Say, you don't suppose he could be related to someone we know, do you? A student or one of us? What d'ya reckon, Poppy, did he set any bells off?" The Flying Instructor asked. From her position several seats down, Madam Pomfrey paused, thoughtful for a moment. It was then that Snape realised that everyone except Dumbledore had stopped eating and was waiting expectantly.  
  
"Now that you mention it, there was something about the face and hair." Poppy said at last. "But it was hard to place. I thought he must just be student I hadn't seen very often." She reasoned, and there were a few curious murmurs.  
  
"What does he look like?" Professor Sprout asked, and there were several nods of agreement. It seemed very few teachers were familiar enough with each Slytherin to successfully pluck him out of the crowd.  
  
"Oh dark hair, round face. I couldn't see his eyes since he was unconscious and almost covered in blood. Not short or scrawny, but he did have quite a few scars here and there, one big on his shoulders." Pomfrey said, thinking back to when she had used the cleaning charm on him and gotten her first good look at the youth.  
  
"Hey, that sounds a bit like Harry Potter, don't you think?" Hooch said, and Snape rolled his eyes. The first mention of dark hair and she was jumping to hasty conclusions all too quickly. 'I'll eat my wand if that boy's related to Potter.' Snape thought, remembering the icy mask the boy had worn, and the sharp precision to his stride. Madam Pomfrey seemed to agree with his assessment.  
  
"Not a chance, Hilda. Or at least not a very good one. He certainly didn't have Potter's mop of untameable clumps, and besides, he's in Slytherin. There's never been a Potter in Slytherin." She said firmly, and the table seemed to absorb this information quite nicely. More than a few eyes had moved over to the Slytherin table to try and find the boy who wasn't there.  
  
"What do you think Severus?" McGonagall suddenly asked, and Snape shot her a dark look for bringing him back into this discussion. It was going quite well when everyone had been grilling Poppy. But of course, Minerva was more than used to his evil glares by now, and completely ignored it. "He was that boy who left just a few minutes before Malfoy, wasn't he?" She continued. With a roll of his eyes Snape nodded.  
  
"Yes. And if he's Potter's boy I'll be damned." He said firmly. Suddenly Flitwick got a mischievous look in his eyes.  
  
"What if he's yours then?" He asked. There was a pause, as everyone at the table went quite. Madam Hooch dropped her fork.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Dun dun dun! Hope you guys liked it. No shout-outs this time, I don't have much more computer time at the moment, but there should be some next chapter. Oh, and Susanna/Pigwidgeon37 caught me, chapters 1 - 3 were already complete by the time I posted chapter one. *Hands Susanna a cookie* 'Till next time folks, and don't forget to review! 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hey everybody, hope I didn't keep you waiting too long! It's time for the fourth instalment!  
  
  
  
There was a moment of quiet, during which only the clang of Hooch's fork hitting her plate sounded at the table, before nearly every teacher on staff burst out laughing. "Imagine, Severus, a parent!" Flitwick said, and gave Snape a rather unceremonious slap on the shoulder. Professor Sprout looked about ready to roll off her seat, and even McGonagall was chuckling in earnest.  
  
"That'll be five points, son, and go to your room!" Madam Hooch said, in a fairly impressive imitation of Snape. Poppy Pomfrey was overtaken by a fit of giggles, and Snape scowled, as the students were beginning to stare at the head table and wonder what in blazes was going on. With a dark sneer he stood from his seat and stalked from the room. He didn't even notice McGonagall watching him go, or see the intrigued look on her face, as he swept out with grace and barely-contained revulsion. The idea of him having children was certainly laughable, but he didn't enjoy being made a spectacle of.  
  
And something was bothering him about it even more. The part of his brain that had been trying to click together for so long finally had, and he realised what was so annoyingly familiar about the boy. Who he was constantly reminded of. An image of a fifteen-year-old Severus Snape, looking in the mirror as he got ready for the day, drifted into his mind. His features were sharper, and of course there was the ever-present nightmare that was his nose, but the dark hair and eyes matched up, as did the stiff way he held himself. No wonder it had taken him so long to pin it down. Snape was being reminded of himself!  
  
But, that didn't necessarily mean the boy was related to him, did it? He shook his head. No, he'd given up on the idea of a family years ago, burying it with the knowledge of how dangerous his life had become. Spy work did not equal stability. Also, the idea of a relationship that lasted long enough for him to even agree to produce a child was... Unlikely. And, Potions Master that he was, an accident was even less apt to occur. Snape shook his head. No, the boy probably just took after him for some other reason. He was a Slytherin after all. It was probably just a fluke, or maybe they were related distantly. He still had a few cousins in Britain. As Snape stalked down to his dungeons, he mused that he would have to see what he could find on the name 'Septimus'.  
  
~  
  
It took Demitrius a while to finally bump into that idiot Fitsgibbons, and even longer for Snape to come and help deal with the problems of sleeping arrangements. It seemed there were no available beds in the Slytherin fifth years' part of the dormitory. After enduring a few lurid comments about sharing rooms with the fifth year girls, Demitrius was thrust rather unceremoniously into the seventh year dormitory, where there was an extra bed. All the while Snape kept glaring at him penetratingly, as if trying to find something, before stomping off cursing about distant relations.  
  
It wasn't until after his official introduction that Demitrius finally got some genuine free time. Before dinner Fitsgibbons accosted him in the Common Room, talking about Quidditch, that damnable sport. The last time Demitrius had been on a broom was his seventh birthday, when Potter was still convinced he could make a Quidditch player of Hermione's son yet. After several minutes during which Demitrius clung to his broom, muttering the foulest curses and threats he had ever heard his father use, a very pale Harry Potter had finally given up. Thankfully Demi was freed of Fitsgibbons when he went to practice after dinner. After that Demi worked on listing the ingredients in the potions he had listed, until the fire began to die down, and the Common Room emptied out.  
  
The stresses of the day catching up with him, Demi hit the bed and closed his eyes, almost immediately falling asleep. Or so it seemed to his older roommates. He waited until the room was filled with the quiet lull of their snores before creeping out of the dorm, very surreptitiously. The rooms were dark and cold, but familiarly so. Carefully he made his way down to the second-year boys' dormitory. His hand cradled the smooth handle of his wand lightly, but expectantly, and he pushed the door open with observant caution. If he was caught it would be easy enough to pretend he'd simply gotten mixed up on the way back from the toilet.  
  
Demitrius placed a foot inside, and looked around. No one had stirred. He walked quietly along the foot of the six beds in the room. Once he had to crane his neck to get a good look at a bed's occupant. He was so caught up in these quiet observations, that it wasn't until he reached the last two beds that he realised they were empty. The curse the lingered on his lips never made it past them. Just his luck that they would choose tonight to pull of some insidious little plot. He felt a twinge of disappointment as he made his way silently back to the door. Demitrius stopped dead as the sounds of whispered voices reached his ear. Close to the dormitory, moving fast, speaking in conspiratorial tones. He looked around. No time to just run out, they'd spot him for sure.  
  
The door to the dormitory began to open, and Demi did the only thing that came to mind. The world grew big and distorted, stretching into a vulgar mockery of itself for a few brief minutes, and Demitrius hastily followed instinct and fled into the shadows. He waited beneath the frame of an anonymous second year's bed and watched as Ross and Finly's feet moved by. Their steps made large tremors which Demitrius was painfully aware of, and he fought the instinct to move further back.  
  
Thankfully, neither boy had seen an unusually large, black tarantula skitter into the darkness as they entered their dorm. Demitrius listened to what he could of their conversation. Even their whispers left strange reverberations on the air, and he could sense their anticipation. Demi reached out a pair of feelers to test the atmosphere. Anticipation, fading excitement and energy. The actual words the boys were using were impossible to decipher in this form; His hearing was incredibly bad as a spider.  
  
It was a true testament to Demitrius' intelligence that he was able to take on this form at fifteen, but what was simply remarkable was that he'd been able to do it for about two years. After his father's untimely departure from the world of the living, Demitrius had still spent his summers at Hogwarts, and after unwittingly making some blithe comment to McGonagall about fancying transfiguration, soon found himself her guinea pig of sorts. Not that he minded. The gift of being an unregistered animagus had had more than a few uses in his time. Usually in situations far more dangerous than the one he was faced with now.  
  
Demitrius waited for the vibrations on the air to die down before he ventured from his hiding place. Soundwaves still surrounded him, from snoring and breathing, but they held none of the same 'danger! Large animal!' warnings that the previous ones did. Like any proud Slytherin, Demi was quite poisonous, and he fought against the urge to bite the hand dangling across the side of Ross' bed. He wanted to punish them, not kill them.  
  
For safety's sake Demitrius waited until he was positive his two targets were sound asleep before changing back. Sinewy black limbs twisted together into arms and legs, as his multiple beady eyes formed back into the pair of dark orbs he was used to. Coarse black hair grew soft and retreated to the safety of his scalp. Again the world was distorted, as his senses changed, and the once enormous surroundings grew small and normal again. Then it was quick work to exact his punishment upon the two boys. He wasn't even thinking, really, when he left behind the pair of calling cards at the foot of their beds. It was what was ordinarily done, and by the time it was all through, he really was tired.  
  
So it was that a considerably less guarded, and considerably more jaded Demitrius actually did fall into his bed, and directly off to sleep. His dreams were filled with screaming. Thus, it was not entirely hard to understand when one more failed to wake him up in the morning. Actually, it was the second high-pitched scream, and the shuffling of the seventh- years around him that finally did it. The door to the dormitory was swung open by a rather energetic-looking fourth year Slytherin girl. "You guys have got to come and see this!" She said, and leaving the door open, dashed back off.  
  
"Well damn, what's that noise?" One of the older boys grumbled. Demitrius sat up, trying very hard to look just as baffled as everyone else, and succeeding marvellously. He grumbled about interrupted sleep as he threw his sheets away and staggered down to the Common Room. There, amidst the familiar dim light and cold green furniture, Finly and Ross were sitting, looking absolutely horrified. And they had a right to be. Most of their fellows were pointing and laughing, but a few looked very scared and suspicious. Brutus Fitsgibbons was pounding the floor with a meaty fist as tears streamed down his cheeks, howls of mirth erupting from him.  
  
Demitrius raised an eyebrow at him and his two victims. Each were clutching a piece of paper tightly in ghost-white hands and looking purely mortified. "Oi, what's that?" The Slytherin fourth-year from before asked, and yanked one of the parchments from Ross. There was a sudden quiet as everyone waited for her to read what it said. She cleared her throat. "It says: Slytherin Reformation. You Have Been Reformed!" She told them, and a new burst of laughter exploded from the Slytherins. Demi joined in, but it was entirely false now. Had he been thinking at all last night he wouldn't have even considered leaving the calling cards.  
  
"Well, that's one way of putting it!" A first year declared, glancing at Ross and Finly. Demitrius allowed himself a small smirk at that. Even he had to admit, the words had never seemed quite so appropriate before. It just proved his subconscious had a fairly twisted sense of humour.  
  
Suddenly the laughter ceased as the Head of House marched through the door to the Common Room, looking extremely put-out. "What is all this noise about?" He demanded silkily. There was a pause. Then, every single arm present was soon pointing at Finly and Ross, who seemed to be trying very hard to melt into their seats. Snape started. There was a pause as he looked at the pair with a very dark scowl. "Alright, you two go up to Pomfrey's, and be quick about it." He said. Like lightning the pair dashed up and out of the Common Room. Snape turned to follow them, but paused. "When I find out who had the poor sense to turn Finly and Ross into girls, I can assure their punishment will be most unpleasant." He warned.  
  
It wasn't until after he was gone that the uproar returned, and once again, there wasn't a student present who could stop laughing. Well, except Demitrius, of course. After what he deemed to be an appropriate amount of time he returned to his new dorm and got ready for the day. Leaving the cards had to be the most moronic thing he had done since his arrival. He hadn't planned on re-starting the SR at all, and he wasn't quite sure what would be the best step to take next. Never do it again? Go full-out and bring back his old group? Demitrius had to quell even more painful memories at that thought. The Reformation would be a hard thing to recreate without Marcus.  
  
"The looks on their faces, it was priceless!" One of the seventh years was saying as he came in, followed by the others. "Wonder who did it?" He asked aloud.  
  
"Well, it had to be at least a really smart sixth year. People graduate not knowing that kind of transfiguration!" Another reasoned. "Especially being good enough to do it in a single night." He added. Demitrius decided to fuel the fires of curiosity a little.  
  
"What makes you so sure it was done in a night?" He asked. There were a few chuckles all around.  
  
"C'mon, those two are dense, but even they would notice if they slowly started changing genders!" The seventh year from before insisted.  
  
"Now, hang on Kevin, he might have something. What was that potion Snape was telling us about last month? You know, the one that he said was the closest he'd come to teaching us a Love Potion?" One of the other boys, who'd been silent until now, asked.  
  
"Oh yeah, I remember that one. It turns whatever you use it on into your romantic dream. Er, so, that would mean some pretty perverted Slytherin's been going around." Kevin said, looking a little nervous. "And that they're a seventh year." He added for good measure.  
  
"I can just see it now, some twisted freak brewing a secret potion in Snape's lab." Another boy added as he got ready for breakfast. Demitrius bit back a smirk. This was perfect, now they were convinced it was a potion, which pulled him directly out of suspicion. He left the dorm completely unnoticed as the older boys continued to make their speculations. No doubt the conclusions drawn from that little conversation would spread like wildfire through the Slytherins.  
  
~  
  
Snape managed to get Ross and Finly to Pomfrey, who said they would have to miss their first few classes while she reversed their condition. He was out of the infirmary and on his way down to breakfast before he let the rather chilling smile that had been tugging on his lips for the past fifteen minutes have it's way. There wasn't a chance that a non-Slytherin had pulled this little prank off. Which meant, that somewhere, one of his students was much more skilled than they let on. Suddenly an image of Septimus flashed into his mind. Snape frowned. Surely it couldn't have been him? The boy was only a fifth year. He looked bright enough, but transfiguration wasn't a subject one easily excelled at. And the method used had, indeed, been transfiguration. Poppy Pomfrey confirmed it as she bustled around the two boys-er, girls, talking about dangerous pranks and such.  
  
'No, more than likely they managed to get on the bad side of a seventh year.' Snape thought, and put the issue aside as he reached the main hall. The Slytherin table was alive with murmurs that soon spread out, carried by Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff alike to finally reach Gryffindor. Replacing his smile with his typical foreboding sneer, Snape took his seat at the table. Professor Granger sat a few seats down, reading a book as she chewed on her toast. "Morning." She said distractedly, and Snape made a polite nod of assent. He looked at what she was reading. 'One Hundred and Twenty Ways to Avoid Dying at the Hands of a Rather Nasty Evil Monster'. Well, that was quite the title. A bit redundant too.  
  
"Good Morning Hermione, Severus." McGonagall said as she took her usual seat next to Granger. Again, Snape merely nodded, as Hermione lowered her book and let loose a rather radiant smile.  
  
"Good morning Professor, did you sleep well?" She asked. 'Still quite the kiss-up, aren't we, Granger?' Snape thought darkly as he placed a few strips of bacon on his plate. Of course, her being a Gryffindor, there was the slim little chance that she might actually care as well. Snape wasn't sure which was worse. But McGonagall smiled and nodded, reminded Hermione to call her Minerva, and the two started talking about the third years' and how this batch seemed unusually bright. A very optimistic way of looking at it. Snape himself was just convinced that last years' were amazingly dense, thus placing their average predecessors in a brighter light. He then ignored the rest of their conversation and thought instead about the potion brewing in his office. Tonight he and Granger would finish it, and then it would be her responsibility to make sure it was administered.  
  
"Oh, that reminds me dear, would you believe I have him first class?" McGonagall said, and Snape popped out of his little potions world.  
  
"Really? I bumped into him at the library the other day. You know, I think he's probably very intelligent." Hermione said. It didn't take a genius to figure out who they were talking about, especially since the two women had now turned to look at the Slytherin table. Hermione twisted her slender frame, and a lock of thick, healthy brown hair fell away, revealing the gentle curve of her neck. Snape blinked. He had never noticed how soft her skin looked before.  
  
'And why would you?!?' His brain screamed, snapping him out of his careful observations. He shook his head and summoned up the image of a twelve-year- old Granger helping Longbottom keep his cauldron from melting, all ungainly from childish growth spurts, little more than a mess of frizzy hair and big front teeth. Any thoughts of soft skin were quickly banished from his mind and Snape relaxed.  
  
He watched as young Demitrius noticed he was being observed, and turned slightly towards the head table. Before Hermione and McGonagall could pretend they hadn't been looking, he offered up a small wave and a smirk. Snape noticed he was sitting next to Fitsgibbons. And, as he had been the day before, was doing a very splendid job of ignoring him. Snape scowled. He also had the boy in his classes today, some time after lunch. What would that be like, he wondered? Was he still teaching Potions seventeen years from now? He barely managed to repress a shudder at the decidedly unpleasant thought. Another seventeen years stuck dealing with idiots and skulking around his dungeons. Well, it wasn't entirely ludicrous, was it? Just. Unpleasant. His Slytherin ambition was decidedly put-out at the prospect.  
  
And something more was bothering him. 'Septimus' was a decidedly wizard name, it was old enough, and held none of the same adaptations most muggle ones did. However, last evening he had paid a little visit to the genealogy section of the library, and managed to pull up absolutely nothing. The last wizard to bear the name Septimus was a squib, who died having no spouse or children. Which meant that either young Demitrius was a muggle-born with a very unlikely name, or else he was lying. Snape frowned. Lying could mean one of two things. Either he wasn't at all who he said he was, or he didn't want people knowing his real name, likely due to some obvious connection with the future. Snape favoured the former idea. He'd never fancied time-travel, and the way Malfoy had looked at the boy. It left a lot of questions, didn't it?  
  
"I don't have him until tomorrow." Hermione said, somewhat downcast. Then all conversations and musings stalled as the headmaster arrived, and the typical polite round of greetings were applied.  
  
"Albus." Snape said, and Dumbledore beamed his twinkling smile in his direction. He then returned his attention to his plate to keep from being involved in any unnecessary conversation. It seemed fate did not agree with leaving him to his quiet thoughts.  
  
"Headmaster? What was Draco Malfoy doing here the other day?" Hermione asked. Snape barely suppressed a snort, and wondered how someone so seemingly bright could miss the obvious. Especially considering that she'd been right there for the incident. But how on earth did she know Malfoy had been here? She'd gotten her notes from him, and hadn't shown up at lunch at all. He fixed Granger with a calculating look. Curious.  
  
"Oh, he just popped by to ask after Demitrius, I'm afraid. No need to worry. I'm certain now that he's been formerly introduced the aurors will relax a bit." Dumbledore said. Hermione looked decidedly unhappy, but said nothing. Murmurs were going around everywhere about the mysterious boy from the future now, mingled with the comments that were undoubtedly about Finly and Ross' little incident. A childish prank that would soon enough become a celebrated accomplishment. Snape tuned out the rest of the conversations for that morning and thought about his classes instead. He wasn't sure what to make of the situations his life was creating at the moment, but he knew one thing. Not a single one could lead to anything good.  
  
~  
  
They moved the Transfiguration classroom. Demitrius frowned as he stood outside what was obviously Charms, cursing that idiot Fitsgibbons for chasing after those female Ravenclaws. He turned and started back down the way he had come. If Charms was where Transfiguration should be, then maybe they'd just switch spots in a few years or something. Of course it would always be preferable if he ran into someone who would do more than just stare at him in awe, or whatever it was. He was starting understand how Potter must have felt, unpleasant notion that it was.  
  
In the end he wound up ten minutes late for class. In his own time, McGonagall would have bitten his head off. Of course, the odds of him loosing his bearings in his own time were slim, since he'd grown up running around Hogwarts. As it was she fixed him with a firm glare when he took his seat. A few of his fellow Slytherins and some of the nearby Gryffindors were snickering quite audibly. "Glad you could join us, Mr. Septimus." McGonagall said in a scolding tone. Demi shrugged and leaned into his chair. He wasn't bloody well going to confess to getting lost, now, was he? "That will be five points from Slytherin." She reprimanded, before turning back to the class.  
  
Demitrius soon found himself absolutely and completely stunned. They would be trying to transfigure their desks into goats. He looked around the classroom in surprise. Goats. Not swords, not shields, not moving projectiles or armed bodyguards. Granted the effects of transfiguration were useful, but what in the hell was the merit of having a goat?!? What, would they distract Voldemort with it? He snorted, a little more loudly than he should have, and McGonagall looked at him in surprise. "Is there a problem, Mr. Septimus?" She inquired, folding her arms at her sides and giving him a stern look. Demi paused. Well, now that she'd mentioned it, there was a problem. But how to get the point across without seeming rude? He thought for a moment, before pulling out his wand, and pointing it at his desk. She hadn't given them any real instructions yet, but he was going to assume a goat could be produced along the same lines as a dog or cat.  
  
Demitrius muttered a few words under his breath, and there was a small flash from his wand. Transfiguration and Potions. Fields he excelled in, and both seemed to be part of his genetic make-up, not that he minded. With a loud 'snap' the desk disappeared and was replaced by a rather placid- looking sheep. Demi frowned. "Well, damn." He said. He'd wanted a goat, not a sheep, but by the look of utter shock on McGonagall's face he'd gotten the point across. It took a few seconds for her to recover, and even longer for the other students in the class to snap their jaws shut. At McGonagall's expectant look, Demi shrugged.  
  
"Barnyard animals aren't really my thing." He said, by way of excuse for producing the wrong mammal. "I think the classes I used to be taking had slightly different priorities." Demitrius added. McGonagall glanced at his sheep, and with a flick of her wrist, turned it back into a desk.  
  
"Come with me, please." She said, and turned to head for her office at the back of the classroom. Demi shrugged and followed her. He soon realised that she'd come to change her office over the course of seventeen years. Not surprising, really. He looked around the spacious room as she pulled the door shut behind him. Books on Transfiguration lined shelves that were attached to the higher parts of the walls. Papers lay in neat and tidy stacks upon her desk. There were a few baubles and knick-knacks here and there, but none of the photographs Demitrius was used to. No smiling images of his mother or twinkling pictures of Dumbledore, though there was one of a group of young Gryffindors with the house cup. Demi didn't really recognise them, but one looked suspiciously like Potter.  
  
He didn't have long to enjoy his little comparison before McGonagall fixed her very penetrating gaze on him. "Well, Mr. Septimus." She began. Demitrius fought back a smile, as he knew exactly where this was going. Sure enough McGonagall's stern look melted away into one of pleased admiration. "How exactly did you learn to do such advanced transfiguration with hardly any effort?" She asked. Demitrius raised an eyebrow.  
  
"My apologies, but I'm afraid I can't divulge that information." He said. McGonagall made a sound similar to 'hmm' and moved to her desk. Reaching under, she pulled open a drawer, and after going through just a few papers produced a very odd looking chart. It was scaled like a pyramid, with very fine lines of alternating colour racing up it. Each line had a percentage one it, starting at the bottom with 'couldn't turn water into ice' and ending at the top with 'better than you, Minerva'. Demitrius waited expectantly as she held up the chart.  
  
"Point your wand at the paper, please, Mr. Septimus." She informed him firmly. With a shrug Demi did as he was told, aiming the tip at the center of the page. Immediately it swooped up the little pyramid, quite outside his control, to touch one of the higher lines. McGonagall pulled the page away as the line began to glow. Underneath it was written 'bloody well better than a fifth year should be'. Demitrius couldn't really place the look on her face. Somewhere between startled, happy, and extremely curious. He decided to offer up a little information. After all, if he was going to change the future, he would need to start dropping some hints.  
  
"In my time it's more important that we be as highly skilled as we can." He said. "Transfiguration is something I have a natural aptitude for." Demitrius explained, and with a 'hmm' of interest McGonagall returned the chart to it's proper place.  
  
"Well, obviously your ahead of the rest of the class." She told him. Demi shrugged. That was true in both times, so it wasn't really news to him. "In fact, the only student I can remember showing such a natural skill for quite some time was Professor Granger. Considering her circumstances, it would not have been wise to move her education along too quickly. But, in your case." McGonagall trailed off, looking at him with consideration. Demitrius cleared his throat.  
  
"In my time I'm a little ahead as well, so y-er, the professor allowed me some time to my own personal studies." He offered. McGonagall looked like she was about to say something scathing before he cut her off. "To do with Transfiguration, of course." Demi added. He'd almost let 'you' slip on purpose. It would be good to indicate a connection between himself and McGonagall, as it might help her to trust him more.  
  
"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of moving you ahead a grade in classes." She told him. Demitrius sighed.  
  
"That wouldn't do much, I think I'd still be a bit on the advanced side. Unless you increased the difficulty of the classes, of course." He explained. Then he looked at her somewhat meaningfully. "Better skills would be far from a bad thing." Demitrius added. There was a pause as he and the professor both looked at each other, weighing one another's minds. After a time there came a knock on the door.  
  
"Professor? Mallory's turned himself into a duck." A rather amused and nervous voice said, muffled by the thick wood of the door. McGonagall sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.  
  
"I'll be there in a minute Miss Craig." She called. Then she turned to Demitrius. "Alright, Mr. Septimus, we'll continue this discussion later. Until then I suggest you find a good book and start reading." She informed him, before marching out the doorway, where a duck Demi could only assume was 'Mallory' had begun quacking quite loudly.  
  
~  
  
In his office at the Ministry, Draco Malfoy scowled down at his desk. No one from any of the usual power families had a boy at Hogwarts who matched the description he'd given. And just this morning, he'd received an owl from Ethan Fitsgibbons, a low-ranking Death Eater who owed Lucius Malfoy a few favours. Apparently his son had informed him that a Hogwarts student from the future had accidentally used an illegal time-travel device.  
  
Lowering a hand, Draco began to finger the edge of the message Fitsgibbons had sent him. This news was more than a little interesting. 'The boy's going by the name of Demitrius Septimus.' A line on the parchment said. Draco didn't need to look twice to know it was a wizard's name, he'd been raised to observe such things, but he also didn't need to double-check anything to know that there were no Septimus' in power now. And the way he had looked... He narrowed his eyes, remembering the brief scene at Hogwarts' main hall. The brisk stride and the manner in which he held himself. The look in his gaze, the same dark, decidedly unremarkable black hair. Malfoy sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. If that boy was really from the future, then all the signs pointed to one, undeniable thing.  
  
His father had been right about Severus Snape.  
  
  
  
A/N: Ha! See, I have this running theory that Malfoy's actually not a, ya know, complete idiot. From now on I'll be announcing my updates on WIKTT, but if there's anyone who wants a heads-up and isn't part of the group, you can let me know in a review. Shout-outs are below.  
  
  
  
RoseFyre - Thanks, and you got it.  
  
Jordan - Okay, thanks!  
  
Silene Acaulis - Glad you enjoyed it. Wow, you've got a really neat name! It's good to know that I'm managing to be original with a very over-done plot-base. (  
  
pigwidgeon37 - Yay, you are so nice! Such wonderful things you say about my story, and you recommended it to others, too! *Hugs until she turns purple* I'm glad you think the idea of Draco as an Auror isn't completely proposterous, and that 'Mione's in character. (Been trying really hard to keep it that way!! ^_^) You must really like my story if you told other people to read it, too, and I'm so happy I think I could burst. Hope chapter four was up to par, and thanks a million times over! Yay! :D  
  
calicat - You're welcome, glad you're enjoying the story! Such praise! I'm sure I've made a few mistakes, but I'm glad they aren't blatantly obvious. Thanks for the review.  
  
MadAboutHarry - Evil cliffies!!! Mwahahahaha! But, now I've updated, so I hope you enjoyed chapter four.  
  
Jessicat1982 - Yay, you know, I'm pretty glad Susanna recommended my fic too. I tried really hard to keep Malfoy Malfoy-ish, so it's great that someone's noticed, as it means I haven't royally screwed up. As for Demi's future... Well, that remains to be seen, doesn't it? ^_~ Hope to see you around!  
  
RowanRhys - Wow, I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I thought it was about time someone shook things up a bit with Snape's kid too, and thanks for noticing, it's been a blast to work on this project so far. I'm glad you like Demi's name, and Demi himself, too. Personally I'm quite proud; Who knew there was such potential for a cool wizard in Snape and Hermione's son? I hope you enjoyed reading chapter two, I love it when people give me nice long reviews like that! So nice! :D  
  
(No Name) - Gee, wish I knew who it was who liked that fork bit, I'm pretty pleased with the line myself. Oh well. Mystery-person, thanks for reviewing!  
  
Scarlet - Glad you like it. Since I'm now a part of WIKTT, I'll be announcing my updates there.  
  
Beth Ann - Ah, such praise, I'm glad you think I'm doing a good job. I have been trying hard to keep everyone in character and stick to my plotline. Hope you liked chapter four!  
  
Isa - Yay, flattery! I know, I'm so evil, leaving people hanging all the time :D  
  
Witchy-grrl - Yay, glad to see you're so enthusiastic. I'm real fond of ol' Flitwick myself, the potential for comedic relief packed into one little genius... Why, it's mind-boggling! ^_^ Hope to see you keep reading, you're reviews are always great to see!  
  
Aemos - Thanks! :D  
  
Nicolette - I'm writing, see? See? Lol, thanks for reading, hope you liked chapter four! ^_^  
  
Sonja S. - Thanks for the compliments, and I agree with you, it gets tiring to see 'Mione going back in time so often! You'd think a responsible gal like her would be better with that Time-Turner ^_~. Yeah, I think everyone's noticed that our little duet has girls more often than boys, which is why I'm happy to say I broke that mould! Yay! Hope you enjoyed chapter four! 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Heheh, back again! It's time for chapter five!! Whoo-hoo!  
  
  
  
  
  
Snape watched Demitrius with a careful gaze as the boy entered his classroom, looking as comfortable and at ease as any other fifth-year Slytherin. The boy was walking alongside Fitsgibbons, ignoring him again, as he took the seat next to his burly companion. Snape noticed with a certain amount of disdain that several of the Ravenclaw and Slytherin girls had a tendency to 'accidentally' drop their Potions books as they shuffled past Demitrius. He sneered, stalking down into the rows of seats, unwilling to tolerate this blatant display of flirtation. Hissing a few scathing comments about this being a classroom, not a singles' club, he soon had every single student waiting patiently in their chairs.  
  
With a swirl of his robes he stalked back up to the front of the class. "Today we will be testing your knowledge of advanced poisons." He said darkly, letting his gaze roam over the collection of students. "Open your books to page three-hundred and ninety-eight. There, you will find a list of ingredients, with no instructions with regards to how they are to be handled or used in practice. These ingredients come together to form a very deadly poison if properly combined." Snape instructed, as students rustled open their books to the appropriate page. A few looked a bit pale; They'd had no idea Snape was going to spring anything on them.  
  
Demitrius was leaned over, looking at Fitsgibbons' book, as he had yet to procure a new one of his own. The boy raised a single eyebrow, but said nothing. Snape smirked. "You will have the rest of today to concoct this potion. You may begin, now." He said. And after a few moments of silence as he swooped over to his desk and sat down, the room came alive again. Students pulled out their individual cauldrons, most looking at the page in utter bafflement or anguish. As Demitrius readied his cauldron, Snape eyed him carefully, watching as he moved to get the ingredients on the list. It was a test. If the boy could produce this potion, it would mean he'd had training in the Dark Arts. Snape didn't expect any other student to even have a hope of pulling it off. The listed ingredients were actually ones used for a typical Silencing potion, that muted whoever drank it. But they could also be used, if prepared differently, to make a potent poison. If Demitrius produced the poison, it would confirm Snape's suspicions. Or at least give them a more solid ground to stand on. If he made a disaster, then he was either even more intelligent than Professor Granger suspected, or his story was true. In which case that still left the question of why he had assumed a false identity.  
  
Snape spent most of the class stalking through room, maintaining his usual intimidating air, as he inconspicuously glanced at Demitrius from the corner of his eye. The boy was working with a kind of quiet skill that was... Notable, if nothing else. Had he been an ordinary Slytherin Snape would have been ecstatic. His hands chopped, minced, mashed, and measured with a deft accuracy. Like an actor rehearsing a well-versed line from a play. The boy altered the heat in his cauldron, adding several cups of water mixed with chimera blood. As he did this he raised a hand to block what he was doing from Fitsgibbons, who was still having troubles getting his cauldron up to temperature.  
  
A few of the Ravenclaws in the classroom were looking at Demitrius starry- eyed. Snape abruptly cursed at one as his hand went loose and he dropped his knife to the floor with a loud clatter. After that, most of the students managed to keep their eyes on their cauldrons, only occasionally glancing up to spy on young Demitrius. Snape was just passing by a struggling Slytherin girl, who seemed at a loss as to what to do with her Mermaid's scales, when he took another glance at Demitrius. And stopped dead. The boy's cauldron was filled with a vicious green fluid, cooling down off of the heat. Reaching over the boy placed a thin towel over the top to lesson the steam and sat back, a decidedly smug look on his face. Snape frowned. The poison was supposed to be a very dark mauve. Yet, the self-assured manner of Demitrius would have lead him to believe the boy was successful, especially considering his earlier conduct. Fitsgibbons was still measuring out his chimera blood, looking utterly and completely lost.  
  
"Mr. Septimus? Is there a problem?" Snape asked, stalking over to the boy. Demitrius smiled charmingly up at him.  
  
"Not at all sir. I must say, that was absolutely brilliant." He provided cheerily. A little too cheerily, in Snape's opinion. The mask he had been wearing since his arrival was just as genuine as ever.  
  
"What, may I ask, was 'absolutely brilliant'?" Snape inquired, spitting out his student's words in as mocking a manner as he could manage, and was quite displeased to note the tiny smile that tugged the boy's lips. What was so bloody funny?!?  
  
"Oh, well, I've just never seen such a clever test before. You gave us all the ingredients for a Silencing potion, and then completely mislead us, just to see how keen we were. Why, I'd bet you've taught everyone here all about Silencing potions, haven't you? It's just inspired!" Demitrius chirped. "Teaching us to use our eyes and our head instead of just blandly doing as you say. That's what's brilliant Professor." He finished, and looked at Snape, smug as he ever was. By now the entire class was fixed on them all again.  
  
Before Snape could even get out a single word, the students immediately changed gears. Their minds began to race over their knowledge of Silencing potions, and several dashed up out of their seats, requiring replacement ingredients to re-do parts of their potion. Snape was not at all pleased. For a long moment he just stood there, matching his gaze with young Demitrius. The boy's expression simply screamed of skill, deception, confidence, wit, and... Happiness? How strange. Was he actually enjoying this?  
  
"Very good, Mr. Septimus, ten points to Slytherin. Now, since you seem to have already completed your potion, I shall have to find something more productive for you to do." Snape said, and allowed himself a little smirk of his own. 'Got you now, boy.' He thought. Demitrius had side-stepped his little test, but he would be punished for it, scrubbing down the dungeon for the rest of class or something. To Snape's surprise Demitrius practically beamed up at him.  
  
"Wonderful! I've got just the thing." The boy said, and reached into his robes to pull out a slip of parchment. "A few potions I've been meaning to work on. Dead useful, really, and the Silencing stuff will be done in just a few minutes I expect." He stated, and removed the cloth from the top of the cauldron.  
  
"Actually, Mr. Septimus," Snape began, in his usual silky tones. "I was thinking of something along a less industrious line of thought." He said. Any other student would have stopped, gotten that crest-fallen look on their face, and let the professor continue. It seemed Demitrius was well equipped to defy the laws of normalcy.  
  
"Damn. And here I thought you'd be interested in knowing how to convert a simple Skele-Gro potion into a cure for vampirism..." Demitrius said. Snape paused. Now, in all logical parts of his mind, he was warned that the boy was likely not from the future and probably just trying to distract him. However, one does not excel at Potions without possessing a certain flare for the art, and Severus Snape was no exception. His natural curiosity was almost as strong as his inborn wariness.  
  
"I believe you are under rather firm regulations with regard to certain things, Mr. Septimus." Snape hissed. Demitrius smiled as charmingly as he could.  
  
"Yes, but I was never told anything about not making potions." He offered up, with a fake innocence that even he could not quite manage right. The end result was rather creepy, and Demitrius seemed to notice, as he looked like a rather nasty bile had risen in his throat after he said it. Snape raised an eyebrow. To Demi's side, Fitsgibbons was now completely baffled, and had seemed to determine that the rest of the class would be better spent pretending he was chopping up cordle-root.  
  
Snape weighed his options. Option one, drag Demitrius out forcefully, march him up to Dumbledore's and blurt out all his suspicions at once to the old man, who would probably do nothing but twinkle happily about it anyway. Option two, kill the boy here and now, and just end it all. Option three, pull up a seat, and see just what young Demitrius manages to produce. Option four, let it all go to hell and hand the brat a mop.  
  
With a decidedly ugly sneer Snape grabbed a spare seat from a nearby desk and lowered himself next to his student. Triumph danced across the boy's eyes briefly, before it was forcefully removed, and with a snap the professor ordered Fitsgibbons to retrieve a Skele-Gro potion from the top shelf of the public stores.  
  
~  
  
Hermione smiled at Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout as she took her seat at the head table. Her day had been hectic and filled with papers, scared students, and loads of questions about the 'mystery boy'. It was starting to feel like being in The Boy Who Lived's inner circle had, back in the early days of their friendship. Not a feeling she enjoyed having very much in all honesty. Harry was great, but she could see why he avoided fame like the plague, and it was completely understandable.  
  
"You were right about that boy." McGonagall said, and Hermione blinked. No need to ask who she was referring to. "He's absolutely brilliant." The older professor exclaimed, a look of deep thought and high excitement on her face.  
  
"Really? He did well in class?" Hermione asked, nodding to Dumbledore as he took his seat. How odd, Professor Snape had yet to arrive, and she'd been running a bit late. McGonagall shook her head as she sipped her pumpkin juice.  
  
"More than that, he's miles ahead of an average fifth year." McGonagall confessed. "Reminded me of you." She added, and Hermione couldn't suppress the pleased smile that spread across her face. Her joy came both from the compliment she received, and the knowledge that she'd pegged Demitrius right. There was a brain behind those very misleading eyes, McGonagall was a bit like Snape when it came to compliments, she only gave them when she meant it. The main difference was that when she did it, it sounded like less of a chore.  
  
"So, tell me, what happened?" Hermione inquired, undeniably curious. She risked a glance to the Slytherin table to catch sight of Demitrius. Oddly enough, the boy didn't seem to be there, the seat next to Fitsgibbons completely empty. 'Maybe he skipped out? Can't really blame him.' She thought, as McGonagall began to recount the events of her Transfiguration class. Hermione blinked.  
  
"You're kidding? Right like that, without any instructions?" She asked as her former professor recounted how Demi had turned the desk into a sheep. McGonagall nodded, and by now Flitwick was listening in with a keen interest as well.  
  
"Yes, I must say, I was speechless at first. Mind you it was a completely disruptive thing to do, and he was going for a goat, but all the same he moved with hardly any effort at all." McGonagall said.  
  
"Well, I can assure you the boy isn't brilliant in every subject." Flitwick chimed suddenly, and both women turned to look at him in surprise. He speared a roll on the edge of his fork, a thoughtful look to his eyes as he spoke. "Had him a little before lunch. I didn't see much that was remarkable about him, if anything he was a little behind." The tiny professor stated meaningfully. McGonagall nodded.  
  
"He did say Transfiguration was something he had a natural flare for. I believe it, too, though there is definitely something odd about the way he behaves. A very serious boy." She mused. Hermione tilted her head to the side as she thought about this. It would be interesting to see how well he did in her class. She glanced at the table, where Snape usually sat. He still hadn't made his grand appearance yet. What was keeping him up? Was there an accident in Potions? Hermione frowned.  
  
"Has anyone seen Professor Snape?" She asked, and raised a hand to indicate the empty seat. Dumbledore looked at her in a very odd way, as McGonagall shrugged an shook her head.  
  
"Probably getting a head-start on that project of yours, dear. You know how Severus is." She reasoned. Hermione blinked. Of course! Their project! During the course of the day she had almost completely forgotten about it. Suddenly curiosity was replaced by annoyance. Getting a head- start on their project? The nerve! It would be just like him, too, to finish it all before she was even supposed to be there and then scold her for not showing up.  
  
With a look of determination Hermione pushed back her seat and stood up. Well, he wasn't going to get away with it this time. "If you'll excuse me." She said, with a polite nod to her colleagues, and then left the dining hall. If she got to those dungeons to discover him working on the potion without her, she'd just give him a piece of her mind, and let's see him try to take house points away!  
  
~  
  
Draco Malfoy sat and waited patiently, his languid form folded within the confines of his favourite chair. He was in the largest sitting room of Malfoy Manor. A large fireplace was fixed to the wall in an elegant design, dwarfed from above by the large, detailed paintings of Malfoys gone by. The stared out at the world, noses high in the air. The entire room had a decidedly cold feel. Darkly coloured walls and furnishings, lit up by cold, sparse lamps around the room. A few tapered candles burned with a bright blue flame from the chandelier that hung above Draco's head. Patience. It was the virtue of only the most cunning Slytherins. Draco Malfoy had taken a while to appreciate it, to understand the power of waiting, of biding one's time. But such epiphanies rarely happen in one's youth.  
  
Swirling the snifter of brandy he had clasped in one hand, he scowled. Still, he had never been very good at waiting, no matter how intelligent a thing to do it was. Like his father before him he was not above breaking out into bursts of rage. Draco took a sip from his beverage, enjoying the warm feeling of it as it burned it's way down his throat. Lucius Malfoy was as yet unaware of his son's information. There was a time when Draco would have gone to him immediately, but over time the Malfoys' heir had realised that his father was not always as tactful as he should be. Too angry, too obvious, too ready to rush to Voldemort and declare Severus Snape a spy. Such a statement would only earn pain without the proper evidence.  
  
Malfoy's waiting was thankfully halted as a jet of green flame burst forward from his fireplace, and a rather large man tumbled forward, onto the blood red carpet. Draco sneered at the ash that flecked onto the fine material of the floor. The man stood, brushing himself off. He was tall and beefy, with greying blonde hair, and a build like a dumpster's. His robes were... Nice, but not entirely tasteful, being that they were a deep purple in colour. Draco didn't move from his seat as the Death Eater cleared his throat. "Mr. Malfoy. You wanted to see me?" The man said. Draco nodded, and gestured for the man to take a seat nearby. His father would have never done such a thing, but under the circumstances, Draco himself could find no objection to giving the House Elves more cleaning work.  
  
"Ah, Ethan, glad you could come." Draco said politely. Ethan Fitsgibbons looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Relax, I'm not going to have you killed." Draco told him, being sure to twist his tones just enough to leave the word 'yet' unnecessary. Fitsgibbons didn't seem able to comply with the younger man's suggestion. Draco sighed, and lowered his snifter to the small coffee table next to him. His sharp features looked dark and haunting in the candlelight. "Very well, I'll make this brief then." He offered. "I want you to bring me Demitrius Septimus." Draco said. Fitsgibbons started, clearly not expecting his words, and paled a little.  
  
"From Hogwarts?" He croaked, a little taken off his guard. "B-but, that's impossible! You can't get at anyone once they're under Dumbledore's lock and key." Fitsgibbons argued. Draco scowled.  
  
"Don't be an imbecile, I'm not asking you to shove him in a burlap sack and cart him off." He snapped with annoyance, and instantly Fitsgibbons' mouth swung shut. Draco relaxed, reducing the level of curtness to his tones. "All you have to do is get your son to go with him at the next Hogsmeade weekend. Once they're out of Hogwarts, the boy will use a Portkey to bring Demitrius Septimus to this manor." Draco explained.  
  
"A Portkey? Are you sure that will work?" Fitsgibbons asked nervously.  
  
"Well, it had better work, hadn't it?" Draco offered, with no small amount of amusement to his voice. "I expect you'll have to convert something innocuous into the Portkey, and make sure no one else touches it. Be sure you do it in Hogsmeade, though. It's been quite a few years since Portkeys worked within Howarts' grounds." He explained, and briefly memory turned back to that night all those years ago, when the Dark Lord had returned and the course of his life had changed. "Don't bungle this, Fitsgibbons. If you get it right I'll see to it your rewarded." Malfoy added, and the greed that flashed across Ethan's face was painfully obvious.  
  
"Right. I'll owl my son to find out when their next weekend is." The older man said, then stood up, and marched his way back over to the fireplace. "Have a nice evening, Master Malfoy." He offered. At Draco's nod, he then took a pinch of floo powder, and zipped away.  
  
Malfoy downed the last of his brandy and stood from his chair with a whirl. Professor Snape, a traitor... It would be so tragic when he died. "Shame. I always liked him." Draco mused briefly, before sweeping from the sitting room with a shrug.  
  
~  
  
What had started as the Nosferitia Banisher, had become a full-blown Potions lesson, but with Demitrius as the teacher this time. After spending the rest of Potions class showing his future father how to convert the Skele-Gro, Snape had insisted Demitrius return to the dungeons directly after his last class. It went without saying that neither would speak a word of this to Dumbledore.  
  
Demitrius hadn't been certain what his father's intentions were with regards to the potion he told them to brew. It could, indeed, be made into a poison, but one which was definitely illegal to brew. Demitrius himself didn't know the exact procedures for brewing it. That was when he realise the look Professor Snape was giving him. He had barely been able to contain his amusement at the hilarity of it all. His own father suspected him of being a spy! It was simply too ironic.  
  
Not wanting to look like a moron in his first Potions class with Snape, Demitrius had instead found away around either making the poison or failing miserably. Sadly, the act seemed to enrage Snape more than anything else, but the moment presented an undeniable opportunity. He had been wondering how to approach his father with regards to the potions he wanted to make. Fate, it seemed, had decided to cut Demitrius a break and practically flung the path to victory at his feet.  
  
Ditching Fitsgibbons after Herbology (a subject Demitrius enjoyed, but wasn't particularly gifted at), Demi had returned down to the dungeons and the Potions classroom. If his father was still suspicious about his new student's motives, that suspicion had been overridden by curiosity. Snape had pulled out at least ten cauldrons, and the key to his private stores was in his hands as Demitrius entered the classroom.  
  
"List." Snape demanded, and Demi handed over the sheet of parchment he had worked on only yesterday. Snape scanned over it, pausing not only at the potions, but at hexes, wards, curses, charms, and anything else that seemed to catch his interest. Of course, only the potions had detailed lists of ingredients beside them. Anything else could hardly be more than a name to Snape. Still, Demitrius waited patiently, until the parchment was thrust back into his grasp. "I'll go and get what we need from the private storeroom." Snape said, and stalked past the young wizard. "Don't touch anything until I get back." He added. Demitrius snorted but said nothing.  
  
As soon as Snape was gone he stalked over to the public stores and began pulling down what was needed. He wouldn't stand there like an idiot until Snape got back, and if they were going to work together, Demitrius would have to be allowed to handle ingredients.  
  
He moved around, placing different items next to different cauldrons. Judging by the large amount all set to go, Snape planned to have them brewing for quite some time. Demitrius took his seat once he had finished placing the ingredients at different stations. He wasn't sure where he learned his organisation skills from, his mother or father. Probably both. Everything was neatly placed in order of use, ingredients put next to cauldrons of the right size for making certain potions, so that movements could be made with speed and efficiency.  
  
When Snape returned, levitating a pile of dangerous or expensive ingredients next to himself, he scowled at Demitrius. Not surprisingly, however, he kept quiet. Demi stalked over to him and began the process of sorting out the less mundane items. It wasn't long before the two men were peering over the rim of a cauldron, Demitrius turning up the heat as his father added a pinch of powdered dragon horn. "Not too much, or it'll loose it's potency." Demitrius heard himself say softly. It earned him a glare of indignation from Snape, who made a rather snide remark about knowing a thing or two to do with potions. After that Demitrius decided not to say anything unless it was entirely called for.  
  
An hour passed, then two. Soon all ten cauldrons were in use. Demitrius worked a silver rod gently inside a matching cauldron, as Snape peered over his shoulder, observing the powder-blue potion inside. Tiny flecks of gold danced across the surface of the substance, with all the merriment of stars in an evening sky. "It'll have to simmer for at least an hour longer before we can add more reindeer hairs." Demi said. Snape nodded, and Demitrius looked up, directing his gaze towards a large black cauldron near the center of the room. "Has the Invincibility potion turned dark pink yet?" He asked.  
  
Snape strode over, a whirl of dark robes, and peered into the cauldron as Demi removed the rod from his. "Not entirely, no, it would appear to be having difficulties breaking down the shrivelfigs." Snape said. Then with a flourish he stalked over to the stores and pulled down a bottle of a crystal-like white powder.  
  
"What is that?" Demitrius asked, going over to inspect the potion for himself.  
  
"Salt." Snape said simply. Demi blinked, looking at the Potions Master in surprise. Snape rolled his eyes and screwed the cap off the top of the bottle. "It will help the potion to break down the figs without reacting too powerfully with the other ingredients. I imagine it will also improve the flavour, too." He said, and Demitrius watched curiously as he added a pinch of the grainy substance.  
  
"I wonder why I never knew that." Demitrius said aloud, and grabbing a large spoon from it's holder to his side, began to stir the thick liquid. Snape sneered.  
  
"Obviously you never had me for a Potions Professor." He said, and Demitrius was a little surprised to hear the relief, just barely audible in the older man's voice. Didn't his father like teaching Potions? It was obvious that the man loved the subject, just from this evening's activities, and he was also extremely good at it. Was it the teaching he didn't like? In all honesty, today was the first day he had seen his father teach. He did seem a great deal more unpleasant than was usual, but Demitrius had assumed that it was because of him.  
  
Both men grew silent as they watched the potion begin to darken at a greater speed. Once it was almost fuschia, Demitrius turned off the heat, and pointed his wand at the bubbling substance. "Virtuo Impro." Demitrius said. A grey mist spread out from his wand and settled onto the potion, weighing down like a shimmering cover, before quickly vanishing. Demitrius lifted up a silver ladle and one of the long line of bottles nearby. Both he and Snape began to spoon and seal the potion together in silence. "The words are important, if you don't put the right emphasis on 'impro' the whole thing turns green, and you have to start over again." Demitrius explained, and Snape nodded as he shoved a stopper into a slender bottle full of a nice, vibrant pink liquid.  
  
A throat clearing at the doorway drew both their attentions, and Demitrius turned to see his mother, leaning against the door frame. She was looking at the brewing cauldrons with surprise and wonder. "What is going on here?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Professor. I wasn't aware you frequented the dungeons during dinner time." Snape said darkly, and Demitrius could tell he was nervous. If Hermione ratted them out, it was all too likely Dumbledore would forbid them from brewing potions from the future, and then Demitrius' plan would be made more difficult. Still, it was Hermione...  
  
"When you didn't show up I thought you might have started our project without me." She supplied, still looking at the potions with too much curiosity to care what she said, or how she said it. Demitrius watched as she leaned over the silver cauldron he had been at not moments before.  
  
"Well, obviously we are not, so if you would kindly leave..." Snape began. Hermione frowned, folding her arms across her chest.  
  
"Since I'm here, we might as well finish-" She began, but Snape cut her off with a wave. Demitrius noticed his father was looking only slightly uncomfortable. A shake to his hand, the way his eyes lingered on Hermione.  
  
"That won't be necessary Professor, I believe I have found a more than adequate assistant for the final stages." Snape told her, with a meaningful look at Demitrius. It was then that realisation came to the young Slytherin. His mother was here. His father was here. And he was here, interfering.  
  
'Oh, shit.'  
  
  
  
A/N: Done! :D Special thanks to Helena for coming up with 'Virtuo Impro', which is latin for 'Greater Strength' in case anyone was wondering. Till next time folks!  
  
Pigwidgeon37 - :D Glad you liked chapter four! Hmm, I wonder how Demitrius would take to being called 'adorable'? Lol, the chart was fun to write, and so was McGonagall, so it's great to know someone else enjoyed reading that part. Heheh, I have a certain fondness for spiders, but sorry that it's creepy. If it's any consolation he doesn't seem to transform all that often. 'Till next time! ^_^  
  
Jessicat1982 - Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying the Slyhterin-ness of it all. ^_^ Romantic tension, evil geniuses, it's been a blast to write it all. Hope you liked chapter five! Now go, review again, hee hee hee!  
  
skipstarseeker - Okay! Here it is! ^_^  
  
Sonja S. - Thanks, glad you're enjoying it. Yeah, poor Demi needs a break, doesn't he? But we'll just have to wait and see what happens.  
  
Beth Ann - Did you like it? Didja? ^_^ Glad you enjoyed Demi's animagus form, it took me a while to think it up. And, you know, I've always wanted to see someone turn into a duck. ^_~  
  
Aemos - Thanks! Yay, I don't think I've ever had this been called 'fantastic' before! :D  
  
Isa - Glad you like the chapter. As for Demi and Marcus, well, that's a bit of a mystery isn't it? But I don't think I'll be attempting to write and slash my first foray into the HP fanworld. :D  
  
Nicolette - You're welcome, thanks for reviewing. Glad you enjoyed the tarantula thing! We'll just have to wait and see how Demitrius and Hermione get along, but I can guarantee I'm going to try and keep things as interesting as possible. ^_^  
  
Christine - Ah, someone caught it! *Hands cookie* Yes, I love to play with names. Thanks for the review!  
  
jade_dagger - Thanks, you got it! :D  
  
Destiny's Fate - Ah, wonderful, it's good to know people are thinking when they're reading this. Demitrius' animagus form is a tarantula because I thought a spider suited his physical appearance, and I didn't have any problems with it because in book four there is an animagus who turns into a beetle. Hope that explains it, and I'm glad you liked the prank. ^_^  
  
Tracy - Okay, I won't! :D  
  
Jordan - Yup, Malfoy's a sneaky bastard, aint he? Thanks for the review! 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Well, Christmas has come and gone, which means I'm back to writing. Yay! Forgive my temporary leave of absence, please, as well as the somewhat mundane nature of this next chapter. It's really more of a 'and the characters develop' thing than work on the plot, which will be promptly resumed next chapter. Special thanks to Fleab who did a wonderful picture of Demitrius, which can be found at her yahoo group, Psuedologica Fantastica. It's really quite beautifully done. Anyway, on with the fic!  
  
  
  
Hermione frowned darkly at Snape. She marched further into the classroom, looking more than a little pissed-off. "I believe I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher here, Professor, and that makes it my responsibility to oversee this project." She snapped. Then she took another look at the rows of bubbling cauldrons, curiosity shining in her eyes. What were they doing? She'd never seen so many potions brewing all at once, outside of class of course. It was like an assembly line! But none of the simmering, boiling, cooling substances seemed familiar. Reaching over, she lifted up a bottle of vibrant pink liquid, looking at it carefully.  
  
"Well, I should go." Demitrius said suddenly, to both Hermione and Snape's surprise. He was looking a little pale. Something clicked in Hermione's mind, and she frowned, looking from the boy to all the unusual potions in the room. She lowered the bottle of something back to the table, and folded her arms, glaring sternly at Snape and Demitrius.  
  
"You two are brewing potions that haven't even been invented yet, aren't you?" She accused, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Demitrius hastily slapped on a look of hurt indignation.  
  
"Professor, I'm shocked! We would never so such a thing. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll just go and let you two work on that project..." He said, and began edging his way towards the door.  
  
"You will stay right here, Mr. Septimus." Snape snapped firmly, and glared at Hermione. "What I do in my free time is my own concern, I believe, 'Professor'. You have no business being here, and as I no longer require your assistance in any manner, I would suggest that you find a more productive way of occupying your free time." He said darkly. Hermione scowled, and neither she nor Snape noticed the slight wince that flickered over Demitrius' face.  
  
"You overbearing, egotistical old bat!" Hermione declared, and Snape raised a single eyebrow at the unexpected and somewhat childish insult. "I have every right to be here, this is the Potions classroom, not your private quarters! And if what you're doing in your free time is in any way threatening to this school, I'll have Dumbledore down here in heartbeat, and I'm sure he'd be interested to see what you two have been up to!" She said, rage burning in her chest. How dare he insult her like that? Dismissing her as though she were some student of his again! The man was absolutely, completely insufferable. Even if he was quite good-looking in a very dark sort of... No, no, just insufferable! Just insufferable!  
  
Snape opened his mouth, which was twisted in something of a sneer, to make his reply. Demitrius, however, cut him off when he suddenly slipped and knocked one of the brewing cauldrons to the ground. Sickly yellow fluid erupted from the wide mouth of the vessel as it tumbled over, getting on Demitrius' robes and spreading out over the stone floor. Hermione let out a shout as the liquid began to smoke, eating at the floor and burning young Demitrius' skin. She rushed over, careful not to touch any of the foreign potion, but Snape beat her to the punch. He grabbed Demitrius by the collar of his robes and physically lifted him off the ground, in a surprising display of somewhat hidden strength. Hermione paused. Something about the scene moved her. Snape, tall and strong, pulling Demi away and quickly muttering a charm that cleared away the burning potion. She snapped out of the odd feeling and moved closer to the rattled student. "Are you alright?" She asked, suddenly feeling guilty for fighting with a fellow professor in front of a student.  
  
"I better get to the infirmary, just to be safe." Demitrius said, and then quickly marched out, hiding his face in his hand. Hermione and Snape both watched him go, silent as his retreating form disappeared from the doorway. Once he was gone there was a brief pause, as only the quiet sound of cauldrons brewing filled the room. Then Snape turned away to right the fallen cauldron. The floor was covered in scorch marks where the now-gone potion had touched it.  
  
"What was that?" Hermione asked, fighting off her guilt, and replacing it with outrage again. Letting a student deal with something so obviously caustic. What if he'd been hit in the face? What if neither she nor Snape had reached him in time?  
  
"That's none of your concern, Professor Granger." Snape replied darkly. Hermione scowled and opened her mouth to start in on her 'I'm the DADA teacher here, you cranky old prick' rant again, when Snape suddenly hissed and dropped the cauldron, holding his hand tightly. Quickly Hermione raised her wand and cleared away the toxic potion. Some had apparently remained on the rim of it's cauldron. Snape had been too distracted to take the proper safety precautions, which really wasn't like him, if Hermione remembered her Potions classes accurately. Which she was fairly certain she did, as such a trying experience would be hard to forget.  
  
"Honestly!" She declared, and stalking over, grabbed Snape's wrist. Second degree burns, it looked sore, and would probably blister. "You'd better go and see Madam Pomfrey as well." She advised. Suddenly Snape wrenched his hand back forcefully, glaring at Hermione.  
  
"There's no need." He said darkly.  
  
"Yes, there is. I'm not having you screw up a project we've been working on for far too long just because you're too stubborn to keep yourself well cared for!" Hermione said, in the tone of voice she usually reserved for lecturing Ron and Harry about getting themselves into trouble. When she used it on them, it was usually followed by an abashed look to the ground, and a few half-heartedly muttered excuses. Or, occasionally, the frantic waving of arms as they tried to convince her just why, exactly, they felt the need to go and get themselves killed. Snape had a completely different response. He stiffened, and glared at her. Looking her up and down in a darkly judgemental manner until she felt like a cockroach on the wall. For a few seconds, Hermione forgot that she wasn't a student any more, and shouldn't be so easily intimidated by her colleague. But the moment passed as Snape looked away and gave a curt nod.  
  
"Very well then. We'll continue with 'our' project," He sneered, "Tomorrow." Then before Hermione could say anything else he swept from the dungeons, and moved along the same path as Demitrius, up to the infirmary. Just as he was about to leave she heard him say. "And Professor Granger? Don't touch anything."  
  
~  
  
Demitrius was still cursing himself inwardly as he made his way wearily to the dungeons. How could he have not thought of that? What if he'd just interfered in a critical moment in his parents' relationship? He paused for a moment, double-checked to make certain he was alone, and then forcefully slammed a fist against the heavy stone wall. The only thing he had been able to think of to get himself out of there was an accident. Which had made him look like a complete fool in front of both of them, not something he particularly enjoyed doing. And he'd had to endure one of Madam Pomfrey's lectures, before Snape himself stormed in, sporting a burnt hand. Then Demi was pulled through another painful shouting-match. And it was all for naught, since obviously he hadn't given his parents the 'alone- time' he'd wanted to.  
  
Dinner was over now, and most students were either studying in the library or their common room, or else goofing off somewhere. Demitrius looked back down at the dungeons. He should go back, check on the potions. Then he should probably find his mother and talk to her about a few of the other items on is list. Demi was certain he could convince her to help, if only by exploiting her undeniable curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Sometimes it was a wonder the woman hadn't been Sorted into Ravenclaw.  
  
Demitrius frowned. He loved brewing potions, loved thinking up incredible plots and concocting marvellous schemes, but right now he needed to clear his head. He was too caught up in his thoughts. With a small, resigned sigh, he turned and retraced his steps in the other direction. A walk would do him good. His father had left the infirmary first, and was no doubt more than capable of wrapping up the remaining potions. Nothing critical was left now that he had demolished the highly caustic poison had been disposed of. A most unpleasant potion, used only for the most necessary assassinations by the Light, and the most painful executions by the Dark. When finished it would look, smell, and taste pretty much like pumpkin juice. However, when consumed, it began to eat out a person's flesh from the inside, burning it's way down. A most unpleasant substance, but useful enough.  
  
Demitrius pushed his way past a group of Hufflepuffs who were looking at him warily, and made his way onto the school grounds. The fresh air was crisp, clean, and wonderfully invigorating. On it was carried the hint of rain and moisture. The sky had darkened into shades of the early night time. Stars, barely able to pierce the sky through the remaining light, glittered coldly above. Nearby the surface of the lake was wide and dark, only the brief reflections of the castle's glow making it seem any different than a great, black pit. The forest loomed ominously in the distance. Demitrius looked around himself curiously, momentarily forgetting his frustration. Everything seemed farther out. Hagrid's hut was off in the distance, and the Quidditch pitch could not be seen. 'The forest must not have turned on the school yet.' Demitrius realised. He paused, racking his brain as he tried to remember when that had happened. 'Oh, right, second year.'  
  
Second year. The sky had been bright, unnaturally so for autumn. Traces of summer lingered, and no one had been prepared for the attack that came, during the first Quidditch match of the season. Demitrius had been looking away from the players zooming along not far off. He would have avoided the game altogether, but that was too obviously rude, as Slytherin was facing off with Gryffindor. It had come like a shudder. First a tremor, and then an explosion. Many had died that day. He halted his walk, and closed his eyes for a moment. Better not to think of it. The memory was pushed back, back to where it could be analysed for useful information, and then discarded. This time around things would not be that way.  
  
"Here, now, yer not ta be outta the castle past dark." A gruff, familiar voice said from behind, and Demitrius turned sharply. He had been too lost in his thoughts, that the groundskeeper had caught him off his guard. Hagrid stood not far off, a dark creature some distance behind him. He was big and bushy and carrying what looked to be a dead bird in one hand. The colours of grey, so familiar in Demi's mind, had yet to mar the half- giant's mane of wild brown hair. Oblivious to the observations he was being given, Hagrid continued. "Tha's been the rule fer three years now, so don' try an' say yeh didn' know." He warned, shaking the dead bird menacingly at Demitrius.  
  
Demitrius drew himself up to his full, intimidating height. Which was nothing compared to Hagrid, but still, it was habit. "My sincere apologies, Hagrid, I merely needed to clear my thoughts." He explained. Hagrid fixed him with a sceptical look.  
  
"Hey, yeh don' look at all familiar. What class are yeh in?" He asked suddenly, looking Demitrius up and down. Demi smiled a charming smile.  
  
"Fifth year. My name is Demitrius Septimus, it's a pleasure to meet you." He said, adding in a polite bow for good measure. Hagrid's eyes widened, and he moved closer. 'No tact, but then, I wouldn't expect it from him.' Demi thought somewhat fondly. He liked Hagrid. The older man was, if nothing else, trustworthy. And that counted for a lot in his time. Suddenly an image flashed up, a memory moving too quickly to be suppressed. Hagrid's hut, caught up in crimson flames, as all around light flashed and screams could be heard. The door burst open and the burly half-giant came running out, fire everywhere, and the sound of a dog barking...  
  
Slam. The memory was pushed away, locked back in Demitrius' mind, back where it belonged. Under lock and key. Hagrid stood before him now fine and healthy. There was no fire. In fact, the half-giant was smiling. "Yer the one all the staff's been talkin' abou, aren't yeh? The one from the future an' all?" Hagrid said, and Demitrius nodded. "Well I'll be. Yer a fair bit more polite than most o' the Slytherin's, I'll give yeh that."  
  
"Why thank you." Demitrius replied. Ah, yes, that lovely negative stereo- type about his house that most of his fellows seemed hell-bent on perpetuating. 'Evil, pureblood assholes, who always turn out to be Death Eaters and walk around, money tumbling out of their pockets.' Demitrius repressed a snort at the thought. There were plenty of evil wizards and witches who came from other houses, but no one seemed to think of that. Peter Pettigrew, one of the greatest traitors in wizarding history, was a Gryffindor. Arial Wilks, the Death Eater responsible for the forceful over- taking of Gringrotts by You-Know-Who, had been a Ravenclaw. Ambition did not necessarily equate darkness. Demitrius himself found that there was more to be had in the Light, more than the life of some subservient pig, grovelling at the feet of a twisted wretch. But, there was that oh-so- lovely stereo-type, which he completely despised. Which had been the reason for starting the Slytherin Reformation. When one wants to change one's image, they must first stop others from perpetuating that image. Demi was drawn out of his thoughts by Hagrid's voice.  
  
"All the same, yer not ta be outside after dark." He was informed firmly, and promptly began to remove some of the feathers sprayed onto his robes by the foul Hagrid was shaking at him again. Not precisely charming. Then suddenly Hagrid was looking at him again. "Say, yer a might bit familiar lookin'. Don' suppose yer related to Hermione, do yeh?" He was promptly asked. Demitrius almost choked on his own tongue. Hermione? Snape, he might have expected, but no one ever told him he looked like his mother! "Oops, fergot, I'm not ta be askin' yeh questions. Still, in this light, yeh do look a bit like 'er." Hagrid said. Demitrius was about to say something, or anything really, when he was cut off by something big and wet being pressed against his palm. He blinked and looked over.  
  
An absolutely massive dog was currently nuzzling his hand, drool dripping onto the grass beside his boot as it slobbered, a rough tongue reaching out to lick his fingers. It was both endearing and nauseating at the same time. "Ah, Fang." He said without much thought, and moved his hand to scratch behind the big dog's ears. He wasn't really all that good with animals. They tended to sense his rather deceptive nature, and steered clear. But Fang had always seemed a bit oblivious to such things. Well, he was a little dim, wasn't he? As dogs go, of course. Hagrid chuckled a bit.  
  
"Seems Fang's taken a likin' to yeh." He said, as the dog moved it's head into Demitrius' cool hand. Then the moment passed, and the dog was back at his master's side. With a nod Demitrius bid Hagrid good night and returned to the castle, without losing any house points for being out past dark. In the broad scheme of things house points seemed very little now. But if nothing else, his walk had cleared his mind, and reminded him of his very important purpose. Changing the path of time. 'I'll simply have to try and keep out of my parents way, or even push them together a bit, when it's convenient.' He thought with resolve. The idea of playing match-maker to his mother and father was a bit awkward. Perhaps this would be even more complicated than he had planned on.  
  
'Tomorrow, I'll talk to Professor Granger, and try and get her to help.' He resolved. It had been only so small a time since everything had changed. During that time, he doubted his mind had ever stopped planning and scheming in great detail, even during classes. He needed something of a break. 'I'll go to the Slytherin Common Room.' Demi thought, turning as he walked down the hallways to avoid knocking a Gryffindor first-year over. This earned him a look of shock which he ignored. 'Surely there must be someone there with more intellect than that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect.' His mind encouraged him. Of course, Slytherins were very adept at getting information they weren't supposed to have, he could easily let the 'wrong thing' slip to one of his cunning fellows. The school would be filled with rumours in no time. 'But do I really want rumours? Panic wouldn't be good. And once something becomes a rumour, it is hard to take it seriously.'  
  
"Did you hear? Whoever it was left a card, saying something about a reformation for the Slytherins."  
  
"You don't suppose it was a Gryffindor then?"  
  
"Well, who else would want to reform Slytherins? What I want to know is how they got into their Common Room."  
  
Demitrius paused as the sounds of a conversation drifted down to his ears. He sighed. So, rumours of the SR had already begun. There was another problem to deal with as well. The Reformation. He would have to deal with it, but his mind shivered at the prospect. Too many connections, too many ill-fated memories surrounded that cause. That name.  
  
"Demitrius!" His head sunk lower as the deep, thick voice called out to him, and he resisted the urge to smash his own skull against the nearest wall. Heavy footsteps thudded nearby as Fitsgibbons thundered up to him, book-bag swaying out dangerously behind him.  
  
"What do you want?" Demi snapped, turning on his heel to glare at the other boy. 'Be civil, be civil, it's never wise to show contempt so openly.' His mind reminded him firmly, and he tried to force some of the venom out of his voice. It didn't matter anyway; Fitsgibbons hadn't noticed.  
  
"Where did you go? You weren't at dinner." Brutus asked, pulling up to pace with Demitrius. He earned himself a derisive snort.  
  
"I was taking care of more important things than stuffing my face." Demi told him, maintaining every ounce of outward composure, but keeping his voice cold. He didn't want to seem inviting or welcoming, since he, well, wasn't. Again the art of subtlety was lost on Fitsgibbons.  
  
"Oh." Was what he got back. Then a pause, punctuated by heavy breathing. "We've got a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next week. I could show you around." Fitsgibbons offered. Hogsmeade? Students were still going to Hogsmeade? Things must have been better than Demitrius originally thought, if Dumbledore had yet to halt trips outside the school.  
  
"I'm from the future, not another country, you know. I don't need a tour guide." Demitrius snapped. Truth be told, he'd never been to Hogsmeade. He'd hardly ever left Hogwarts, which was something of a disadvantage and a gift at the same time. When he was younger he had visited his mother's parents once or twice. Before that one day, when his mother had wept, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet that had the Dark Mark etched over her family's home. Back then, he'd been too young to understand what had happened. All he really knew was that seeing that mark usually meant he wouldn't be getting visits from someone or another any more. A confusing thing, since he'd glimpsed that same mark on his father's arm. It wasn't until he was older that he'd finally understood. "I'd rather not go to Hogsmeade, thanks." He said with a slightly strained voice. Fitsgibbons looked crest-fallen.  
  
"No!" He said suddenly, and Demi raised an eyebrow in surprise. That was a bit abrupt. He looked Fitsgibbons up and down. The boy was nervous, obviously a little stressed. He couldn't hide his emotions well at all. A few passing students stopped to look at them in surprise. Fitsgibbons laughed. "Well, what I mean is, you won't want to miss it!" He added lamely.  
  
'Hmm.' Demitrius thought. How intriguing. Now why would a big, dumb pureblood Slytherin want to drag him, a sophisticated and obviously unimpressed acquaintance, to a fairly mundane school trip? Why would he be so anxious about it? 'Two answers. One, he's being pushed to make sure I get there. Two, he has a crush on me.' Well, the second one, aside from being immensely disturbing, was highly unlikely. No one talked about women as crudely as Brutus Fitsgibbons if they were flying for the other team. Which left the first reason. Someone else wanted Fitsgibbons to make sure Demitrius Septimus went to Hogsmeade.  
  
Had he not just travelled seventeen years into the past, Demi wouldn't have been so surprised. He had enemies of his own after all. But, as it was, there simply hadn't been time to earn himself powerful opposition. Curious. Then again, he was from the future, and if his identity had leaked out that meant that there would be those who wanted to get at the information he had. Maybe they weren't yet as powerful as they could grow to be, but there were still Death Eaters to worry about. Dark Marks could yet mar the sky with their ugly message of fear and hatred.  
  
"Oh, what an enticing offer. Let me think. No." Demitrius said. He wasn't going to walk, arms open, into such a blatant and stupid trap. If someone wanted him they'd have to do a little better than that. Honestly, he was beginning to think no one in this time had any respect for his brilliance! Assigning asinine brutes like Fitsgibbons to follow him around, setting up obvious traps and blocking his doorways. If only all who wished him harm could be so obvious. It would make life a lot easier all around. More boring, definitely, but sadistic freaks like the Dark Lord would have a hell of a harder time gaining power.  
  
Fitsgibbons looked as though he were about to throw some kind of massively proportioned tantrum. His face was red, and his meaty fists were clenched tightly in frustration. "You can't say no!" He declared loudly, yet again managing to draw the immediate attention of all those within hearing range. Demitrius blinked.  
  
"Funny, I was under the impression I could." He mused, crossing his arms. He had to admit on some insanely cruel level it was fun to watch the brute behave a bit like a tea-kettle. Any minute now he should start whistling as steam blew out of his ears.  
  
"I mean, you won't want to miss it. Really! Everyone's going." Fitsgibbons tried, obviously desperate. It was quite apparent that his tiny brain couldn't fathom why his incredibly brilliant attempts at diplomacy were failing.  
  
"Good, then I'll have some time to myself." Demitrius answered. He watched as a vast array of emotions and colours danced across his companion's face. His look changed from anger, to frustration, to worry, to more frustration, and back to anger again. Suddenly a rather large fist planted itself in the wall next to Demi's head. A few people scurried away at the sight of the unexpected punch. Demitrius looked at Fitsgibbons in mild irritation. The boy was literally fuming.  
  
"Now you look here. You're going to Hogsmeade with me or I'll turn your face into mashed potatoes, you little worm." Fitsgibbons growled angrily, retracting his fist and cracking his knuckles. Demitrius looked at the place where the blow had hit the wall. He looked at Brutus' meaty, sweaty hands, all bunched together and cracking, and he looked at the snarling expression on the boy's ugly face. Before anyone could blink Fitsgibbons was backed up against the other wall, the tip of a wand pressed just below his chin, as Demitrius scowled.  
  
"Never, ever threaten me, you moronic lump of flesh." He hissed, and with a muttered incantation and a flick of his wrist, he released Fitsgibbons. It would have been preferable to turn him into something nasty. Like a monkey, or a pig, or a particularly warty toad. However, there were witnesses. Displaying his obvious ability to transform anything in an instant would not be wise at the moment, as everyone was still talking about Finly and Ross. So he'd settled for a nice Furnunculus curse. Fitsgibbons howled as the painful boils began to sprout over his skin, and fumbled carelessly for his wand. "Expelliarmus." Demitrius hissed, and the short rod of rough pine zipped over to his hand. He glanced at it. Not at all well cared for, and it had taken Fitsgibbons far too long to draw it. Pathetic really. He turned, head held high, and began to walk away.  
  
Vibrations were easier to sense when he was a spider, but even humans could tell when something almost the size of a bulldozer was thundering towards them at a great speed. Demitrius darted to the side at the last minute was Fitsgibbons' boil-covered fist hurtled towards him. Lost in his momentum, the larger boy kept going as his intended blow passed through nothing but air, and he hit the ground with a painful smack.  
  
"What on earth is going on here?" A female voice demanded, and Demitrius almost started as his mother pushed past a few students to take in the scene before her. Fitsgibbons lay cringed on the ground, looking pained and murderous at the same time, while an entirely unscathed Demitrius stood with a falsely innocent expression above him. Hermione shot him a dark look, which was greeting by one which simply screamed 'who, me?'.  
  
"Oh, thank goodness you're here Professor. Fitsgibbons here attacked me." Demitrius said. Hermione looked at him sceptically. Even he had to admit, the evidence was rather stacked against him. Mostly thanks to the fact that he was unhurt. Fitsgibbons opened his mouth, and unfortunately for him, had the poor judgement to spend the next several moments swearing quite loudly. Hermione paled a bit at the obviously tasteless language. Demi's story began to look a little better.  
  
"Save it, both of you." She snapped, and Fitsgibbons shut up. Hermione turned to a nearby student. "Lillith, take Mr. Fitsgibbons up to see Madam Pomfrey. Mr. Septimus, come with me please." She said. A dark-skinned girl with short, curly hair nodded, but looked at Fitsgibbons rather warily as she lead the fifth year away.  
  
Demitrius followed his mother down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and to the right. Along the way several passers-by whispered and watched them curiously. Hermione led Demi to her office in the DADA section of the school, a slender room just past her classroom. Demitrius blinked as he stepped in. The place was covered in photos, newspaper clippings, and bits of sentimental odds and ends. On one side of the wall was a pair of bookcases, filled with books not only on Defence Against the Dark Arts, but also on Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and... Dentistry? Oh, right, his grandparents. A desk, which should have been larger and on the other side of the room, was pushed up towards a wall. It was littered with organised sheets of paper, which looked to be students' assignments, and a few photographs. Demi recognised some of them. A young man was bright red hair waved out of one, flanked by two older boys of a more boxy build, but with the same shock of hair. Ron Weasley, and the other two, who had died as well. What were their names? Frank and something? Demi couldn't remember. They'd died before his mother had.  
  
In another photo a younger version of his mother sat between Ron Weasley, and a younger version of Potter, as well as a girl who Demitrius recognised as Ginny Weasley. The Charms teacher. Well, in his time anyway. They sat around the Gryffindor Common Room, Christmas items littered around them, smiling and opening presents. There was one image of a younger Potter again, tending to a preening white owl which sat upon his shoulder. In another picture Ron and two other boys dressed in Gryffindor clothes held broomsticks at their sides. All were dressed in Gryffindor's Quidditch robes. They goofed off, looking relatively happy and care-free. At the bottom of the picture was a scribbled note, which read: 'Finally on the Quidditch team!' And was signed Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas. Demitrius re-read the last name. Thomas. Hmm, maybe he was related to Michael. His thoughts stopped there, not daring to tread any deeper.  
  
"Something interesting about my desk?" A voice asked, and Demitrius turned a little, to find Hermione looking at him curiously. Well, that was stupid. He'd almost been gawking.  
  
"No, just seeing if anyone looked familiar." Demitrius supplied enigmatically. Good. Imply connections, but keep her guessing. Hermione frowned and took the seat behind her desk.  
  
"Well, then I suggest we get down to business. Take a seat." She told him, and gestured at the chair across from herself. Demitrius sighed inwardly. He knew that tone of voice. And though he would never thought he'd admit it, it actually felt a little good to hear it again. Something familiar. It was the 'you are in so much trouble young man' tone. "Now." Hermione said, fixing him with a particularly piercing look. "Explain."  
  
  
  
A/N: Well, sorry to cut it off there, but I need sleep so everyone's going to have to wait until the next chapter to find out what Demi will say. Not exactly a suspense-ridden ending, but at least it keeps you guessing. I want to thank everyone who so kindly reviewed, especially those of you who left those particularly long, flattering ones, and those who e-mailed me. Oh, and everyone who's been a consistent reviewer. I'd do shout-outs, but I'm tired, and I'm willing to guess you'd prefer me to sleep and live to write again than die trying to show my appreciation. So, shout-outs next time, and just know that every review makes me oh-so joyous. Especially one that comes from you in particular! ^_^ Thanks for reading. 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Baaaaack! :D Well, basically this chapter has romantic tension and plot development. Yay plot development! Also, Fleab (Who is completely and totally awesome and deserves all the cookies I could ever possibly give) has done another picture for this story! Three cheers for Fleab, because it's absolutely gorgeous, like all her other stuff is. The picture is of Demi and his father, when Demi splashes himself with the rather nasty potion from chapter six. It can be found, like the other one, at her yahoo group Pseudologica Fantastica. I highly recommend you go and see it! Now, onto the reading!  
  
  
  
"I already did explain, Professor." Demitrius said innocently, clasping a hand against his chest and leaning forward, a hurt expression on his face. "Fitsgibbons attacked me. I was merely exercising my own self-defence." He told Hermione. Well, okay, so maybe he'd over-done the whole 'defence' part, but perhaps she would take that well. Some kind of zealousness for her subject? Demitrius sat back a little at the expression on her face. Somewhere between angry, amused, and extremely unconvinced. Well, it was worth a shot.  
  
"Usually when someone attacks you, there is some sort of evidence to back that up." Hermione said, looking him up and down. It did look bad. There wasn't a single scratch on him.  
  
"I have good reflexes." Demitrius said with a shrug. He received a rather sceptical glance, but Hermione's only comment was a slow 'hmm'.  
  
"I wouldn't ordinarily believe you, but sadly, Mr. Fitsgibbons has something of a reputation. Still, I'll have to ask that you return his wand." She said, and Demitrius felt immensely relieved as he handed back the stubby piece of wood. Well, of course the oaf would have a reputation, he was a violent moron. But something in Professor Granger's face said she wasn't ready to let him go just yet. She lay the wand to the side of her desk, gnawing a bit at her lower lip. It looked as though she wasn't sure how to say what she wanted to. "I'll still give both of you detentions. Fighting in the hallways isn't something I can tolerate." She told him, but he knew that wasn't what she'd really wanted to say. What was it? Did she want to ask him why they'd fought? No, that would have been fairly easy to get around to.  
  
"Of course. No more tolerable than staff members verbally battering one another in front of students, I suppose." Demitrius said, and couldn't keep his humour from shining in his eyes, even as the rest of his face remained cold and calculating. Hermione frowned at him, her guilt making her face turn a light pink. She was so easy to read it was funny.  
  
"Ah, yes, well. That was inappropriate of me. I apologise." She said. Oh, this was perfect! She'd walked right into it, Gryffindor honour and blindness tagging along behind her. Demitrius allowed himself a little grin.  
  
"No need to apologise to me, Professor." Demi said, and she smiled gratefully at him, but he was not finished. "I think you owe such words to Professor Snape instead." He supplied. 'Yes! Now, she'll go down there to say sorry, and, er, things will happen. Hopefully.' He thought triumphantly. Hermione looked like she'd just opened a carton of rotten eggs, after being told it was filled with candy.  
  
"P-Professor Snape?" She squeaked, before regaining some of her composure. Demitrius suppressed a frown. Well, this was odd. The fighting thing was fairly standard, they did that all the time, and he'd heard her call his father worse things than a 'bat' before. But what was this? Fear? She, his mother, was afraid of Severus Snape? He blinked. 'Why on earth would she be scared of him?' He wondered. Gradually his rational, cold, calculating side (which had been getting a real work-out of late) started piecing things together. Point one, his father could be a creepy bastard when he tried. Point two, she used to be his student, didn't she? Point three, their romantic relationship hadn't started yet, and this could all very easily just be nerves. Somewhere in the back of his head, however, the inner child which he had locked in a box and buried after his twelfth birthday was banging around, going 'No way, Mommy loves Daddy, she couldn't possibly be scared of him. He wouldn't hurt her!'  
  
Demitrius promptly summoned his inner shot gun and silenced the annoying voice. Of course, all the while this was going on he was simply watching Hermione serenely, as she tried not to pass out. "Yes, apologise to Professor Snape." He told her, and threw in a smile for good measure. She looked at him like he was absolutely insane before regaining her composure. Hermione straightened, and some of the colour returned to her face.  
  
"I don't think that will be necessary." She said. Demitrius frowned.  
  
"Really? You don't?" He asked her carefully, and watched as she visibly seemed to go over her thoughts. 'Come on, Gryffindors aren't that cold. Bravery, honour, she's going back to apologise or I don't know my mother.' He thought. Sure enough, he read the signs of her acceptance written on her face, shortly before her words confirmed it.  
  
With a sigh Hermione leaned back into her seat. "Oh, alright, I'll apologise to Professor Snape." She relented. Ah, triumph. Demitrius suppressed his victorious grin. It wouldn't really do to arouse suspicions just yet. Unfortunately for him, he didn't notice the quick glare Hermione shot him, and was not expecting that she might have laid a trap of her own.  
  
"So, what exactly were you and Professor Snape working on down there, since we're on the topic." She said, and got a very self-satisfied look to her face. Demitrius blinked. So, she thought she'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, did she? Demi was far from being nervous about this. That she asked him meant she hadn't gone straight to Dumbledore, which was he had been hoping for.  
  
"Brewing potions, Professor, I would think an astute woman such as yourself could have seen that." He replied calmly. "Potions are something of a fascination of mine, you see." Demi added for good measure. Slow and steady. He'd reel her in by her suspicions, and trap her with her curiosity. It was almost evil how well he knew what would happen. The only obstacle could be her loyalty to Dumbledore, which he knew to be fairly sound, but that could be side-stepped with just a few carefully placed words. It wasn't like he planned to the old man harm or anything. 'Stopping his death. Now, there's a real challenge.' Demitrius thought. Murder was one thing, old age was something else entirely.  
  
Hermione was looking unimpressed. "I think you know exactly what I meant, Mr. Septimus." She told him firmly. "Those potions were not your average variety of 'interested student doing extra credit' work, and even if they were, Severus Snape does not give extra credit." She told him. Demitrius smiled.  
  
"Alright, you've caught me." He told her. Now, here was where he had to be careful. Divulge a little, but not too much. His look grew serious. "Professor, let me ask you something." He said, shifting a little in his seat to give her a very serious look. It was genuine; The cheerfulness was, and had always been, an act. Well, except for a few times. Hermione looked at him but said nothing. Demitrius lowered his voice. "What would you give to jump years and years ahead of Voldemort in developments? To learn spells and counter-spells that won't exist for more or less a decade?" He asked. Hermione looked at him sternly.  
  
"That's immoral, and dangerous." She said.  
  
"What if I told you it was worth it?" Demitrius asked. Okay, so, maybe he was pushing Dumbeldore's restrictions a little here. Well, to hell with the old man! If Demitrius was willing to risk his own existence by being here, a few rules certainly weren't going to stop him. He toyed with the idea of just outright telling her. Not about her being his mother, that wouldn't do, but about other things. Maybe just one. Maybe... He looked at the pictures on her desk again, his eyes landing on the image of her, the two Weasleys, and Potter on Christmas day.  
  
Hermione followed his gaze, and worry flashed clearly across her features. Demitrius looked at her. Hmm, maybe he needn't say anything after all. She took in the picture a moment before looking back at him. "What are you asking, Mr. Septimus? That I turn a blind eye?" She asked, and Demi could tell he had her.  
  
"Demitrius or Demi, please, we aren't in class. And I'm asking for your help." He said. "There are things I can and cannot say. I cannot tell you why your help is needed, or what will happen in week, or a month, or a year. But I can tell you I need it. I can tell you little things, about wards and hexes, innocent things. Things which could come from my own inspiration as easily as another time." Demitrius said, standing from his seat to wander her office as he spoke. He never liked sitting down much. Moving, standing, walking were better things. He stalked over to the book cases and looked at some of the photos there. More of Weasley and Potter, but also some of his grandparents, which were eerily still. Muggle photos. Bleh. There was one of his mother as Head Girl, talking avidly with Professor McGonagall, pictures of everyone important in her life. To her it was happy reminders. If Demitrius did nothing, it would some day become a shrine to what was lost.  
  
"The war with You-Know-Who... It doesn't go well, does it?" Hermione asked. Demi frowned.  
  
"I cannot say." He told her. Physically, he could, but right now he'd rather weave through loop-holes than outright tear down walls. It wouldn't do to have a man like Dumbledore opposing him, to compound the challenges he already faced.  
  
"You're asking me to trust you. But, I don't even know you!" She said, more to herself than to him, and Demitrius could see the logic in her words. It didn't matter. Hermione would be in his corner now, it was as good as sealed.  
  
"But you'll help me, won't you?" He stated more than asked. It was only a brief moment before she sighed, and tiredly nodded her head. Demitrius turned away from the bookcases. Well, that was one obstacle down, about ninety-million left to go. As well as whoever it was that wanted to get their hands on him.  
  
~  
  
To say the Severus Snape was in a foul mood would be like referring to a dragon as being 'not altogether cuddly'. A gross and very deadly understatement. Yesterday's events had left him drained, cranky, and filled with thoughts of Hermione Granger. Most of those thoughts had been the usual. Hexing her, cursing her, watching as she died in some horrible Potions accident of her own doing, re-living her graduation, but this time with her failing and Draco Malfoy NOT becoming a Death Eater. However, some of the thoughts had been far more unnatural, and that was what got him to his current state of ill-temper.  
  
Why, oh why, did she have to be so fierce? Why couldn't her hair have stayed a great, uncontrollable bushy mess, instead of becoming thick and lovely with time? When had that girl learned to use a comb? Hormones. Snape didn't bother to hide his sneer of revulsion. She was the only woman, or person even, on staff aside from Snape was going grey or bald. Though by all rights his hair should be a shimmering mass of white strands by now, with all the stress he had endured over the years.  
  
She had grabbed his hand. And he had, well, noticed something. He enjoyed her touch. A cool one, light and gentle against his own. 'Severus, this is twisted. She was your student.' He berated himself. But, try as he might, he couldn't manage to bring up that mental image of an eleven-year- old Granger. The closest he came was Hermione in her school uniform. Which really, really didn't help.  
  
"Um, Professor?" A rather terrified sounding voice asked. Snape looked up from his desk into the tearful eyes of a Gryffindor first-year. Gods save them all from first-years.  
  
"What?" He snapped. She flinched, as though he'd struck her, then turned and pointed out into the sea of students. It was then that Snape noticed a rather Longbottom-esque young man had successfully melted his cauldron and was looking absolutely petrified.  
  
Snape stormed over, thoroughly humiliated the boy, handed out a detention, alleviated his house of the burden of several points, and at the end of it all felt a little better. The bell rang, the first years ran, and Snape allowed himself to forget Professor Granger and turn his mind to Potions instead. Young Mr. Septimus was, undoubtedly, brilliant. The odds of him being a spy had gone down a bit. Not because he was good at Potions, which was certainly no saving grace in that field, but because he had produced positive results. After the boy failed to turn up again the other evening Snape had bottled and stoppered the remaining fluids, labelling them and making note of what he'd gathered from the experience. He could present them to the Board of Potions Masters in a few months, at the international exposition. Typically he avoided the affair as he had no time for research, and was not, by nature, and overly social creature. Demitrius' list contained more potions even still. Their presentation would earn him great prestige, having so many new things all at once, and all with so much potential. But something had been nagging him at the back of his mind. Was this why the young man had shown him these potions? For prestige? To earn credit for the creations of others? It was a very Slytherin thing to do, and Snape held no contempt for such an act, he'd been planning on it himself. No worse than Gryffindors with their glory-hogging.  
  
But the nature of the potions was somewhat concerning. It didn't take a brilliant mind to build a connection between all the liquids. Two poisons, an invincibility potion, an anti-vampire concoction, a cure for lycanthropy (which reminded him, he should get in touch with that idiot Lupin. Maybe Dumbledore would give him Granger's job. Probably not, but it was worth a try), and a variety of items designed for healing serious injury or causing serious damage. They were the potions of war. Nothing flighty or fanciful, no advanced love potions or anything frivolous like that. Nothing of the sort was even on the boy's list. It gave Snape a very foreboding feeling.  
  
Of course, it could be that the boy simply preferred more serious types of concoctions. Snape could certainly understand that. But still, there was something in the air. Something intangible that seemed to flicker around the corners of his sense, whispering that there was more to this, as ludicrous as it sounded. And Snape had learned a long time ago not to ignore such warnings.  
  
Classes came and went, as did lunch time, during which Snape decided to mark papers rather than endure the inane babble of his colleges. He didn't want to have to see her again, either. How could he have been so distracted as to burn his hand? It was sheer idiocy, he was behaving like a teenage boy. Or at least, behaving as he had when he in particular was a teenage boy. At least he wasn't salivating openly like most had a tendency to.  
  
It was evening when, at last, the time came that he could no longer avoid Hermione Granger, as she came to him. Her head peered around the corner of the doorway, long, thick strands falling away from her face as she did so. Shadows of firelight danced across her face, and for a moment, Snape found himself noticing something odd. Cast in a different light she looked... Well, he didn't know what she looked like. Still the annoying Granger woman that she was. He shook his head. Cold shower, long rest, and this little problem would go as quickly as it had come.  
  
"Professor? I hope I'm not intruding." She said politely. Snape grunted. Stupid question, of course she was intruding, bearing her presence into his domain. But there wasn't anything for it, so why bring up such an obvious topic? Foolish niceties. She knew perfectly well the only people he wanted to see less would be Potter, Weasley, or the Dark Lord himself. Hermione moved into the room slowly. Obviously, she wasn't looking forward to this any more than he was.  
  
"Right then Granger, let's get this over with." Snape said. He didn't have the patience to spit 'professor' at her with his usual venom. Standing up from his seat, he began to make his way towards his office.  
  
"Wait."  
  
Snape stopped. He glanced over his shoulder, mildly surprised. Wait? What, did she have something to say? 'Yes, like stop ogling me you perverted old man, so I won't feel the urge to vomit when we work together any more.' His treacherous mind thought darkly. For, that would be her reaction, wouldn't it? Had she noticed his discomfort? Noticed him... Noticing?  
  
"I would like to apologise." Hermione said, looking up from her shoes.  
  
"What?!" Snape half asked, half snapped, he was so startled. Apologise? He was confused now, though he did not at all show it, towering like a great shadow in the dungeon's gloom. Hermione crossed her arms and met his gaze, as though facing an army of Dementors, all holding hockey sticks. (A/N Picture that, really, it's hilarious and somewhat spooky at the same time.)  
  
"I would like to apologise." She repeated, a little more loudly and clearly than before. When it was apparent Snape wasn't going to say anything, she continued. "I shouldn't have fought with you infront of a student like that, it was unprofessional, even if you did make me angry." She said. Quiet loomed as her words sank in.  
  
Snape looked at Hermione. Hermione looked at Snape.  
  
"...Very well. I accept your apology." He said. She nodded, and in silence they made their way to his office.  
  
~  
  
"What do you mean, he won't be there?" Malfoy asked of the head in his fireplace, a distinctly displeased look marring his handsome features. Ethan Fitsgibbons looked as though he expected to loose that head, too, any minute now.  
  
"Well, now, my son couldn't convince him..." Fitsgibbons began, before Malfoy waved him off in irritation. Wonderful. Not a single brain cell could be found in the entire Fitsgibbons family tree, he shouldn't have expected them to carry this out successfully. Like the Crabbes and Goyles their only use was as muscle, or occasionally money. But Malfoy had access to plenty of both. What he wanted was someone who could bring him that boy, for once he had him the Veritaserum would take care of all his troubling little questions.  
  
It seemed the subtle approach wasn't going to work. "Your son is strong?" Draco asked. He barely registered the older man's nod, as he turned his back, leaning up against the beautifully carved fireplace. "And, does he have friends who would help him?" He inquired further. There was a pause.  
  
"For money or advantage, but yes, he knows people." Fitsgibbons supplied. Draco frowned at the tones of his voice, simpering and lowly, and he knew what the man was saying. But he would not help him pay for bribes, now was a time for redemption, not alliance. Draco wanted something, and now either Fitsgibbons would deliver, or his fellow aurors would get a very valuable tip from an anonymous source.  
  
"Make whatever arrangements you want. Get them to drag Septimus to Hosgmeade, if they must, but make certain they get him there. This is your last chance." He said, and before Fitsgibbons could say anything more, Draco dismissed him with a wave. Fitsgibbons murmured his farewells, and his head disappeared from the fireplace, flames crackling powerfully in it's wake.  
  
"Draco? Who were you talking to?" A soft voice said from the doorway. Malfoy turned only slightly. A woman, pale and small, dressed in a soft pink night gown waited at the entrance to the sitting room. Her long blonde hair was loose, and unusually fluffy, falling around a fragile and pale face.  
  
"It's nothing to concern you Annette. Don't ask such questions." Draco said, the warning clear in his voice. His new wife had no place meddling in the affairs of the Death Eaters, especially ones as intricate as this. He'd married her for a few reasons. Her cunning was not one of them.  
  
Annette frowned a little, obviously displeased by his harsh words. She was a foolish and breakable creature. The perfect wife for a Malfoy, and Draco did not resent his father for arranging the pairing. The frown soon faded away into a light smile. "Why don't you come to bed now Draco? It's cold." She said coyly, moving towards him with delicate footsteps. Light as a feather. Her arms snaked around his waist, and he let them remain there.  
  
"Perhaps I will."  
  
~  
  
"Carefully, Professor, or you'll knock some into the flame and ruin the burner." Snape warned, as Hermione gently stirred the bubbling potion. It was beginning to take on it's bluish tinge as Snape carefully added in the powdered moss.  
  
"I'm being careful." Hermione replied. Overall, they'd managed to keep mostly civil around one another as they worked. They fell into a harmonious rhythm as each mind went over the steps of the potion, checking, altering, stirring and chopping, with a flare and brilliance of motion that often only came from years of companionship. Which, technically, could be said for them. 'I have known him for years, haven't I?' Hermione thought, as she glanced at the darkly handsome man beside her. She'd known him pretty much for as long as she'd known Ron and Harry, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and so many people who were fixtures in her life. But, for some reason it didn't feel that way. Maybe because she knew him, but she didn't really *know* him.  
  
He was brilliant with Potions, but what did he do in his spare time? He was a spy, working against Voldemort. But did he have any friends? He was harsh, and judgemental. Did he judge himself as well? Living down here, in the cold dungeons, alone and uncaring. Why did he do it? By choice, or by circumstance? And why did she want to know all of a sudden?  
  
"Watch it!" Snape hissed suddenly, as without thinking Hermione moved her stirring rod a little too quickly, and a light drop of liquid swished over the side and onto the fire. There was a loud 'pop' as it hit the flame, and a bright flash. With a surprised squeak Hermione moved back. Her shoes skidded on the smooth surface of the dungeon floor, and she crashed rather unceremoniously into something hard and warm. Her eyes squeezed shut as whatever she had it toppled over as well. A foul smell erupted from the burner below the cauldron.  
  
Hermione and the whatever-she-landed-on hit the floor, and both let out an audible 'oof'. Both. She lay on something hard and warm, something that was breathing. Her eyes stayed clenched tightly shut. No, oh no, it couldn't possibly be that. Stealing herself, she opened her big, brown eyes, and found them looking into highly agitated black orbs. Hermione gulped. Yes, it was true.  
  
She was lying on top of Professor Snape.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: And so ends chapter seven. Sorry if it's a bit shorter than usual, chapter eight will be looooong. Now, shout-outs! ^_^  
  
Sonja S.: Thanks for reading and reviewing, great to see you again. Don't worry, there'll be more! :D  
  
Jessicat1982: Hmm, I'll get cracking on the snog thing, but I'm not giving you any time frames. :D Thanks for the review, glad to get another one from you! Keep 'em coming! ^_^  
  
Isa: Thanks! ^_^  
  
Liesel: I know, I know, I take romances waaay too slowly, but things are moving better now. Thanks for the review, I'm glad you like it! :D  
  
Aemos: Yay! 'blindingly good', ooooooh! Such high praise! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll let you know when I update automatically from now on, ok? That should make things easier for you. Thanks for reading! :D  
  
RoseFyre: Hmm, I'm starting to notice a pattern...  
  
Goddessnmb1: Convoluted... Yup, that's spelt right! Got my spellcheck on! :D I'm so glad you're enjoying the story, I hope the plot doesn't get too tangled, it's about to spread out a bit in the near future. As for the time thing, it's part of the mystery of the story, but I'm hoping I'll be able to explain it right as we go along. I know I screw up with grammar sometimes, heheh, it's a bit sad but I don't really have the time to go back and fix all my mistakes. Don't worry about bringing it up, even if it is small. I don't mind. It's not like you're flaming me! Thanks for reading, hope I'll see another review from ya. :D  
  
Potionsgurl: :D Thanks, glad you had a good time reading. Demi's a perceptive kid, isn't he? ^_^  
  
Witchy-grrl: Yay, such high praise! I love your reviews! :D But, if you want to know the secret to my story, it's pretty basic. See, I know everything that's going to happen! It's what JKR does too. Demitrius' fate is already set and sealed in my little plot-outline, and I just throw in little tidbits now and then. Nothing amazing. ^_^ But I'm really glad you're having a good time reading, hope you enjoyed chapter seven!  
  
SilverStar: Ah, yay, I'm so happy you're enjoying it. As for the boy thing, I get that a lot. ^_^  
  
Jordan: You got it. And yeah, Brutus is an idiot, he really got his commuppance. :D  
  
Nicolette: Hullo Nicolette, thanks for reviewing again, I love you repeat reviewers. Can't say what Hagrid'll do, but I'm glad you liked the chapter! :D  
  
Gabriele: Wow, your reviews are great, so long and flattering and informative, thanks so much for reading and leaving comments! You must really like Demitrius. I'm happy you think I did a good job, Demi's a blast to write about, as I've told numerous people. It's weird but it's almost like he writes himself some times. I'm glad you like the flashbacks, and the character interactions. I can't make any promises about our young heroes fate, though, as that would probably make the rest of the story pretty boring. But Demitrius is a smart lad so if there's a way, he'll find it! :D Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, and for enjoying the fic so far, hope I see more of you!  
  
Beth Ann: Thanks, glad you liked Demi's quick thinking, and I appreciate the compliment! ^_^ Hope you liked chapter seven, always nice to see a review from a familiar name.  
  
Mireille: Yay! I'm so happy you enjoyed it, and I'm glad you were sceptical about Demi, because it's about time someone didn't love him from minute one. That you like him now is great, because it means he develops as we go along. I can never be sure of that with my own writing! :D I actually don't mind Malfoy so much, but I just read so many fics where he was good, and so many more where he was OOC, I wanted to try constructing his character along the path left off after GoF. Glad you think it's well- written! 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter. This one's a bit longer than usual, but I hope ya like it! ^_^ Special thanks to Kneazle, who did a lovely picture of Demitrius! :D  
  
  
  
  
  
It was the last class of the day, and sadly, it was also Demitrius' worst subject apart from Flying Lessons. Care of Magical Creatures. And, since it was Hagrid, and Hagrid never did anything small, the 'creature' they were to care for was a juvenile Spitting Hydra. Demitrius stood some ways away, trying to shield himself behind his classmates as the lithe beast hissed and spat large globules of fetid saliva. It's three heads writhed wildly, leaning out over the top of it's pen, and trying very hard to eat the nearby students. Or at least that's what it looked like to Demi.  
  
"Are you sure this is safe?" A nervous Gryffindor boy asked, looking a little pale as the silvery hydra turned a bright red eye towards him. It's faces were narrow and long, the scales shimmering like gems in the sunlight. But it's teeth were a sickly yellow, sharp and broken, and it's breath was beyond foul. Demitrius found himself wishing he had a silk kerchief to hold up against his nose.  
  
"Sure, sure, not ta worry Louis." Hagrid assured him, even as a ball of spit landed not far from the boy's feet. The scene was familiar, and brought another, unwelcome one to Demitrius' mind. A blond young man, dressed in Slytherin robes, held a large black lizard in his arms. The reptile's tail was curled tightly around Marcus' arm, and it's pale green eyes were looking at Demitrius with surprising intelligence.  
  
"Isn't he marvellous? Dad got him for me. I think I'll name him Cid." Marcus said, looking for all the world like Christmas had come early. There was a derisive snort from Demitrius' side, where a girl with long, dark brown hair stood. Her locks were captured in a thick braid, which swayed out behind her as she moved a little further back.  
  
"Cid? Honestly, Marcus, why on earth would you name something that ugly?" She inquired, eyeing the lizard warily. Marcus shrugged good-naturedly.  
  
"He's cute, Helena!" The Malfoy declared, in a very un-Malfoy like manner. Then, as if on cue, 'Cid' rolled back his green eyes and spat up a jet of blue flame. The burst landed at Helena's feet, and she darted back with a shriek. Demitrius had laughed then.  
  
He didn't laugh now, as the Gryffindor boy darted back as well. Before he could summon the strength to push back the memories, which was some how becoming harder instead of easier as time moved on, another one came. He stood over the body of a fallen Death Eater, cold and unmoving as Marcus lifted the man's mask. "Maybe you shouldn't..." Demitrius said, but his colleague only frowned.  
  
"I need to know, Demi." He said hoarsely, even as the sounds of battle raged all around. "I need to know who I've killed." Marcus told him. Demitrius nodded, but did not look as the mask was lifted. Silence. Marcus moved backwards, pale as a ghost, his blue eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears of horror. "No." He whispered.  
  
"Marcus?" Demitrius asked. Marcus shook his head, backing up until he was against the nearest wall. Blood stained it, but he didn't notice or care, as his pale form shook. His wand fell from his hand.  
  
"No, no, no! It can't be true, it can't be!" Marcus howled, and fell to the ground, clutching his head. "He wouldn't have come, he wouldn't have, not here. No, no, no!" The boy continued. Demitrius watched him in silence. Cold, empty blue eyes slid up to look at his. "My father, Demi. I killed my own father!" He declared, before the world shook again, and the battle erupted into the room.  
  
"Er, Mr. Septimus, are yeh alrigh'?" Hagrid said, his thick voice bringing Demitrius quickly out of his memories. He snapped his head up to look. The entire class was staring at him, and even the hydra seemed to have gone silent for the moment. Demitrius berated himself as he returned his mind to the present. What was his problem? He had dealt with pain before, why did the memories keep plaguing him here?  
  
"I'm fine Hagrid, my apologies." Demitrius said. "What were you saying?" He asked. Hagrid nodded and turned back to the hydra.  
  
"I'll be needin' some volunteers ta help me take o' this magnificent specimen, he'll be here fer a week an' he's too big fer the younger classes." Hagrid explained. Demitrius frowned. Much as the prospect of spending his free time with that monstrosity 'delighted' him, he politely declined. In the end a few sympathetic Gryffindors offered their help, and Hagrid was pleased as the class left, those who had been foolish enough to stand near the front heading for the bathrooms to wash the spit off. Marcus would have loved it, he always liked horrible lizard-beasts, much to his family's disappointment. 'Stop thinking about Marcus, you idiot!' He told himself harshly.  
  
Maybe it was because it had happened so recently. Now that his plans for changing the future had begun to take shape, his mind was less focused, and the gravity of the recent battle had begun to plague him. But it was irrelevant, as he wouldn't allow such things to happen. 'When this is all over, I won't have to worry about suppressing memories anymore.' He thought, and that idea calmed him. And then he paused. What would happen, in fact, when this was over? Time was a complicated thing. If he were to change the past, then no Demitrius of the future would come back to change history, so then would the past be changed? But if it wasn't, then he would indeed be here, and so time would change, but then... Demi shook his head. Well, that was confusing and pointless. 'Can I change history?' He wondered, with a sudden jolt. What if his presence here was part of the passage of time? What if he even, horror of horrors, caused some of the atrocities he sought to prevent by being here? 'But then, wouldn't I have heard of myself?' He wondered. Surely, his parents would have mentioned something about a boy with the same name who royally fucked things up? It was all becoming extremely painful to consider. What would happen?  
  
"The workings of time are very complicated, my dear boy, and try as I might even I have difficulties understanding them. However, the fact remains that you are here now, and it seems there is no alternative but for you to stay. The future will be what it may."  
  
Dumbeldore had said that to him, after he woke up.  
  
Demitrius rarely took solace in the words of others. He found his own reasoning and mind more able to help, than depending on the thoughts of other people, who's reasonings could not be trusted. But in this case the words... Helped. They helped because they were true. The future would be what it may, nothing was set in stone, not right now. His past could be stopped. Demitrius didn't know what would happen to him when he changed time. But, it didn't matter, did it? He was here now, and had as much right to be as any other. That was what the old man had meant.  
  
"Time to let go, Demi." He told himself, glad that no one else was in the corridor with him. He saw now that his plans were too short-range. Why, the members of his Reformation would be extremely displeased, knowing that their leader hadn't thought much past spells and potions. Demitrius looked around. He needed a place. The Slytherin Common Room wouldn't do, it was too crowded and distrustful, and the library had the same problem. No, he needed a space for thinking. For planning. If he was going to bring down Voldemort and change the world, he was going to need some place to think things out in. And he knew where it was, too, if it still existed.  
  
With a quick check to make certain no one was following, Demitrius began to make his way along the corridor, towards the stairs that led to Gryffindor tower. Hogwarts had many strange secrets, but Demitrius had learned a great many of them over the course of his lifetime. And this was one of his favourites. He darted down a corridor to avoid a group of Gryffindor sixth years, before continuing on his way. The changing staircases swung above him, swaying as one decided to move around. With a quick check to make certain he wouldn't be caught, he launched up three flights of stairs. When he got to the third he knelt down, and levelled his face with the fifth step. "Oops!" He said loudly to the stair, and banged a hand on the smooth surface next to it.  
  
There was a groan as the staircase shifted and Demitrius held on. This part always made him nauseous. The steps swung around, until they were facing what looked to be a blank wall. Quickly Demitrius ran up the remaining steps, two at a time, and launched himself forcefully into the wall. He really hoped the room would be there, as his shoulder flew towards the seemingly solid stone surface.  
  
Demitrius hit the wall, and kept going, feeling a sort of dizzying sense of light-headedness as he passed through. That was normal. He moved for several steps, hearing the stair case re-locate itself from behind him, and opened his eyes to see a painfully familiar room.  
  
And suddenly, it was all too much. The room was large and warm, about two thirds the size of the Slytherin Common Room. A square table sat in the middle, with straight wooden chairs all around it, each one elegantly carved. A beautiful fireplace roared to life on his right. The mantle was made of an elegant, dark red wood, intricately sculpted to look as though the mantle was the back of a sleeping dragon. A back carpet was laid out upon the stone floor, shimmering like a lake as it reflected the surfaces of the room around it. The walls were bare and empty. Demitrius had found this room when he was ten years old, running up and down the staircases looking for secrets. He slipped, and quickly figured out the secrets of this place.  
  
For four years it sat, his special room, until the Reformation came into being. And then it was given purpose. The secret hide-out of all fourteen members of his dedicated group. They had decorated the walls with banners made, covered in the carefully thought-out symbol of their cause. People from each house had joined the Reformation. Approached in secret, brought together by the war, to try and change things. To try and change the Slytherins.  
  
But no banners were up. They hadn't been crafted by Samantha Weasley's careful hands, nor hung by Michael Thomas, the tallest of their group. No emblem of a spindly black spider hung over the looping name. And no one sat at the chairs, no one stood beside the fire. Demitrius sank to the ground, and looked at his reflection in the carpet. He hadn't cried for a very long time. When his mother died, tears stopped being enough. What was a little water in the face of loosing something so important? He had tried to cry. Had thrown things, yelled, screamed out his hatred for the Dark Lord and howled his pain into the night. But no tears fell.  
  
When his father died, he had been still. His mother's death had been horrible, but his father's had nearly destroyed him. No tears, nor howls of rage. He had been still and quiet and hadn't spoken for days. If not for his friends then, he might have gone insane. But they had been there. Marcus had brought him out of it, and Demitrius taught himself not to remember. To push it back so it could never hurt him.  
  
But there was no Marcus here now, no one to pull him out of it. No one who knew what pain he had seen. Even Dumbledore only saw part of it, and through words. Words and nothing more. Words could not say how it had felt to watch them put his parents in the ground. How he had known who was responsible, but done nothing, for the sake of that man's son. There were no words for what it felt like when Marcus looked up at him so horrified. And then beyond that, to watch his friends die, and be powerless to stop it. To never cry for them. To try not to remember them, because it was better than facing it, better than risking his sanity again. For he had seen it. And often, even a thousand words cannot do a picture justice.  
  
Would the Reformation ever exist in this time? What if by being here, he prevented the birth of others? He wasn't only risking himself. Marcus and Helena were a year older than him, but had probably not yet been conceived. Michael was the only one who was born yet. But he would only be a toddler now. Demitrius looked at his own face. He looked at the pale skin and the dark eyes, which now seemed so haunted, even to him. He remembered a play his mother had shown him once. She kept a 'television' in their quarters, down in the dungeons, and occasionally put in tapes to watch when the nights grew cold, and the feelings of the war got close. Especially with his father was away, working as a spy. One tape she had was a story called 'Les Miserables.' It was a musical theatre production. People sang the stories on a stage, instead of what they usually did, where they acted them out more realistically. Demitrius remembered one part in particular. A man had lost all his comrades to a war, and returned to their old gathering room. But of course no one was there. He sang of 'empty chairs at empty tables'. Right now, there was no one Demitrius would be in greater agreement with.  
  
Empty chairs. Would they ever be filled again? Which was worse, to live a life doomed to end in tragedy, or to never live at all? What was he gambling here? He couldn't set up everyone's parents. Carefully he stood from the ground. Part of him, his rational side which normally reigned supreme in his mind, yelled to him of how he was loosing it. That if he lost control now, he might never get it back. That coming to this room was a great mistake.  
  
But, the rational side was tired, and so was Demitrius. He stood there, staring at the table, and the chairs. Only nine chairs. One night, the Ravenclaw Trio had sneaked out of their Common Room after curfew, with another five chairs shrunken in their pockets, and placed them in the Meeting Hall. It had been a great surprise the next meeting. Of course, the chairs had the Ravenclaw insignia on them, and wouldn't change no matter how many times Demitrius and the others tried to fix it. They'd stood out horribly. "Well, We'll just have to bring in Gryffindor cushions to even things out then!" Sammy had said, and giggled in her terribly squeaky voice. She had been the daughter of Percy and Penelope Weasley, a short little ball of long, puffy red hair, and freckles on every inch of her. She couldn't be found without a large grey cat caught up in her arms, which Demi used to swear could be dead for all they knew, as it never moved.  
  
Helena, a Slytherin right to her core, had sneered in disgust and announced that the day that happened would be the day she left their little group. Demitrius actually hadn't minded the thought. He disliked Helena, she had a tendency to abandon them at inappropriate moments. But she was Marcus' girlfriend so the two of them tried not to kill each other.  
  
There were no Ravenclaw chairs now. Demitrius sat down in a long, curved seat at the head of the table. His seat. He could almost hear his own voice speaking, and could almost see the faces of his colleagues through memory. Marcus on his right, Sammy on his left. At the other end was Michael, one of the Hufflepuffs, and Head Boy before the war claimed his life in the final battle. In his mind he recalled their last meeting. He had snapped at Michael and Jared, a Gryffindor boy who Demitrius' had known since their first year, for talking about Quidditch while everyone waited for Demitrius to speak. Jared was Gryffindor's Seeker. A small boy, pale in both skin and hair, who followed Sam wherever she went. He had a soft and scratchy voice, but a strong will. Demitrius had learned from Sam that Jared had been attacked by a vampire when he was only seven years old. The Nosferitia Banisher potion had cured him, but burnt out his throat, leaving him almost breathless whenever he spoke. His parents had died in that conflict, and he had been raised by his older brother. Demitrius had greatly respected Jared.  
  
Still, he scolded him and Michael, before beginning the meeting. They had no idea an attack was upon them. They spoke of inter-school problems, and Marigold Bicks, a Hufflepuff pureblood who was always great for tips, had mentioned that something seemed amiss in Hogsmeade.  
  
"Well, something's always amiss in Hogsmeade, the streets are thick with Death Eaters!" Iris Pepperfield, a Slytherin girl Demi's age, had declared confidently. Marcus had frowned.  
  
"Not everyone there's a Death Eater you know. My Dad goes down there a lot." He had stated, and all around the table everyone shared a look. Poor Marcus. He was the only one who didn't know what his father was up to, and no one had ever had the heart to tell him, apparently not even Draco Malfoy himself. It was a wonder the boy hadn't been Sorted into Hufflepuff. But then, he remembered, Marcus had said he threatened the hat into putting him in Slytherin.  
  
Topics had changed. They had spoken until the evening wore thin, and discussions of Reformation business had soon melted away into study sessions. The Ravenclaw Trio, consisting of three Ravenclaw boys who were completely inseparable, had say huddled together around one side of the table. Henry, Rex, and Adonis. Demi had noticed that Rex and Henry were currently trying very hard to explain something from Charms class to Adonis, who had the incantation memorised perfectly but couldn't get the wand movements down to save his life. Michael, Jared, and Sammy had all left the table, and judging by their hand movements were talking avidly about Quidditch. Sam had just made the team in the Keeper position last year, but had a tendency to leave her post and tear after players who went after Jared, so Demi had heard. Iris and Marigold were chatting companionably, shooting him furtive glances, which made Demitrius roll his eyes. For the past two years the girls had haunted his footsteps as they noticed his maturing form.  
  
Marcus and Helena spoke together over a Charms book, which Helena had produced from her bag. Though if Charms actually made Marcus blush that much there was something going on between him and Professor Weasley that Demi didn't know about. And not so far off, the three youngest members of the Reformation were sitting together. Angus MacDonald, a Hufflepuff and their Divination expert (which basically meant he occasionally fell over onto the ground, and spewed out some nonsense while he spasmed) sat with Lucilla Carmen, from Gryffindor. Both were in their third year. Between them sat the final member of their team, Bingo, a small grey dog who belonged to Adonis. She wasn't very old, but Hagrid had assured them she would get bigger. Technically dogs weren't allowed in the castle, but on occasion Adonis managed to sneak her into the meeting room. Usually she stayed outside with Hagrid and Fang.  
  
Angus and Lucy were perched over her, complaining about Potions as they petted her fur. "It didna make any sense, there was no bark oil on me hands!" Angus declared in his thick Scottish accent, obviously part-way through the conversation. He lifted his hands as if to make a point.  
  
Demitrius was looking at the spot where the younger ones had sat, on a corner of the floor, near the doorway. He looked at the places where all had sat. He wasn't sentimental, he wasn't given to long periods of thinking back, because of the pain. He banished happy memories along side the sad ones, because you couldn't have one without the other.  
  
But if, or when, he succeeded, he would be the only one to have these thoughts. Any of them. Could he just lock all of it away? Didn't those people he had known, those people he had loved but never told them so, have the right to be remembered? Some might never exist. Others might be born, but surely they would grow up to be different people? They would lead different lives. No war, no pain. Demitrius closed his eyes. He placed his elbows upon the table, and lowered his face into his hands. Was there ever a way for him to keep their memory, without the hurt? Without the pain? In his mind he saw as a young girl cried out, red blood mingling with red hair as she fell to the ground. Her form lay still next to others. Lucy and Jared. They stared, eyes open but not seeing. And something laughed. Laughed at them for dying. There was a piercing pain, and Demitrius knew he was being toyed with, and the piece of the stone wall flew at him. It raked across his torso, drawing blood. The laughter kept on as he crawled away. Beaten, broken.  
  
And then Demitrius knew. Pain one could wallow in, one could die or drown in forever. But anger was the saving grace. It burned, cold and deep, at his very core. That there was a monster who had destroyed everything was intolerable. That he should laugh, *laugh* at them, as he made them suffer, made them die, was unthinkable. There was nothing to that so- called Dark Lord but evil. Everything else, and everyone else, they had purpose and reason. Power, love, duty, something that was real drove them. But all he had was madness.  
  
Demitrius lowered his hands. He wouldn't forget. He couldn't remember all the time, not while he needed his mind about him, but he would make the pain anger. And the anger would drive him. Anger would give him power, the power to destroy Voldemort and see the future reborn. No matter the cost. He would kill that monster, slowly and painfully, and then he would be the one to laugh. Demitrius cast his eyes up to the walls. This place would serve it's purpose again. He would recreate the banners, and build a shrine in it to his broken future. Here he would give his Reformation their vengeance. A cold, but true, smile overtook his lips. He would need materials for the banners. That would have to be stolen, as he had not taken any money with him through time. Then he could begin constructing his plans. Somehow he would have to find out what information Dumbledore's Order had on Voldemort. Who were suspected followers, what were they up to, put names and faces to dates and numbers. By the end of all this he was positive he would wish he'd paid better attention in History.  
  
Demitrius glanced upwards towards the ceiling. The great, cream-coloured walls stretched up into a dome, centred around the face of a clock. It would have been an ordinary muggle time piece, were it not for the fact that the face displayed the weather of the outside world, enchanted like the ceiling of the Great Hall. The hands were arranged in such a manner that he knew it was almost dinner time. Standing, he cast a final glance at his reflection in the carpet. He looked as he always did. But then, he still hadn't cried, had he? Perhaps he never would. With a shrug he pushed back his thoughts. Time to return to the land of the living, for the time being anyway. Demitrius walked over to the roaring fire place. Now, this trick had taken him a while to figure out. The first time he found the room he'd been stuck inside for hours and hours. Raising a hand, he went over to the end of the mantle. An intricately carved dragon's head lay there, eyes shut tightly. Demitrius tapped the dragon on the nose. "Wake up!" He demanded.  
  
There was a pause. Slowly, lazily, one single wooden eyelid curled back to reveal a bright orange eye. A slit pupil fixed on Demitrius curiously. "Haven't seen you before." The dragon yawned. He creaked a little as he opened his wooden mouth, revealing carved fangs and a moving, forked tongue. Demi shrugged.  
  
"Guess you haven't, but you will again." He supplied. "Could you open the passageway, please? I'll be late for dinner if I stay much longer." Demitrius asked. It didn't pay to be rude to the dragon, he was often sensitive about such things. There was a pause as the orange eye considered him.  
  
"Oh, alright, so long as I can go back to sleep." The dragon said. Then suddenly the fire in the fireplace snuffed out. The interior slid aside, revealing an opening and a smooth, surprisingly dust-free ladder. Demitrius nodded his thanks and made his way over, as the mantle closed it's eyes, and went still again. He slid into the fireplace and began to make his way down the ladder. Whoever designed Hogwarts must have been a very bored person. It wasn't uncommon for rooms to have no way in and no out, save for under special circumstances, like on Tuesdays when it's a full moon after Halloween and you're dressed in purple. At least the Meeting Room could be reached at any time. Provided you knew what you were doing, of course.  
  
The ladder reached it's end, and Demitrius turned slightly to look downwards. He paused. There were no voices, nor footsteps. With a sigh he let go and dropped down at least a foot, to land gracefully on the floor of one of the many rooms in the dungeons. No one ever came down this way. The place was covered in dust. Old, rusty chains lined the walls, and it was apparent to any eyes that the room he had landed in was indeed a cell of sorts. A barred door was rusted open, and cobwebs littered the space between the bars that lined the walls. Demitrius took a step forward, and behind him a smooth wall rumbled shut over the passageway. One way out, but it was not a way in. One way in, that wasn't a way out. Farther down the dungeon he heard a chilling shriek, that could only have belonged to the Bloody Baron. Demitrius never knew why people feared the ghost. He was just that, a ghost. Couldn't even touch you.  
  
Quietly he made his way out of the dungeons and to the waiting dinner. From now on his days would consist of eating, working, scheming, and sleeping. Not that they had been much different before.  
  
~  
  
For a moment, neither Snape nor Hermione moved. She lay atop him, pinning him to the ground with her light form, and Snape was almost painfully aware of the gentle slopes and curves of her body pressed up against his own. Her eyes looked into his. They were warm and round, holding none of the disgust he thought to find. A blush was creeping up her cheeks as they simply stared at one another. Soft, thick strands of brown hair blanketed around them, brushing against the back of his hand gently as she breathed. Oh, she breathed. Gentle breaths which moved sweetly in and out from softly parted lips. Snape didn't think he would ever be envious of air. Without thought he shifted, leaning his own face down towards those lovely, parted lips. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. For a moment nothing moved, and even her breath stopped.  
  
"The burner!" She suddenly declared, her cheeks a vibrant shade of red as she scrambled off of Snape, and quickly whirled around towards the cauldron. For a moment he simply lay there in startled confusion, before his mind came roaring back to him, and he moved gracefully up to his feet.  
  
"Is it ruined?" He asked coldly, straightening out he robes as he stepped forward, and plastered a sneer to his face. The flame still burned fairly evenly, and Hermione grasped the stirring stick again, not meeting his eye.  
  
"No, there wasn't enough spilt for that." She said. Ordinarily, she would have sounded relieved, but at the moment her voice was quaky and unsure. Snape just stood there for a moment. He was very unsure of what he should do. Apologise? No, no, that would be far too humiliating for his tastes. Though he had obviously rattled her, which wasn't at all surprising. Perhaps he should simply snap at her for crashing into him and let it go at that. Yes, that would do. He plastered a sneer onto his face.  
  
"Next time I would appreciate it if you paid more attention to the potion, 'Professor', and not whatever fancies your mind indulges in." He snapped. Hermione winced, and for a split-second, Snape almost wished he hadn't done that. She frowned, still not meeting his gaze.  
  
"Well, it was only a drop! You don't have bite my head off. The potion's fine, the burner's fine, no harm's been done." She argued. Her cheeks were still a vibrant red, though from anger or embarrassment Snape couldn't tell, and her hair now swept around her face somewhat wildly. He swallowed. 'One day, I will create a potion that can quell human hormones, and this problem will never happen again!' He vowed. Then he narrowed his eye appropriately, turning back to the moss he had been adding before she crashed into him. It was scattered across the table, a few bits on the floor. Those would have to be swept up. As he gathered the moss on the table together, he shot her a vicious glare.  
  
"A drop any bigger would have destroyed that burner, and completely thrown the entire potion off." He said in usual dark, cold, 'fifty-points from Gryffindor' voice. "Of course, if you would prefer to test that theory, by all means return to your day-dreams. I will have no trouble locating a replacement for you when you are little more than a scorch mark on these walls." He said, with a dismissive gesture outwards at the room. Hermione's frown deepened, but she was paying excruciatingly close attention to the potion now.  
  
"Oh, and I have absolutely no doubt who you would choose to replace me, too." She snapped, and there was a certain bitterness to her tones which Snape was completely unprepared for. "After all, from what I saw he must be brilliant at Potions." Hermione added. "You must be ecstatic. A Slytherin student who's almost as good as you at this subject, even if he did come back through time."  
  
What was this? Jealousy? Why on earth would Hermione Granger be jealous of someone else for their intellect? It made no sense. While Snape would never, ever admit it aloud, she had been one of his finest students. The only one in her class to complete her Potions final with absolutely perfect results. And then it hit him. She wasn't jealous of the boy's intelligence, but of Snape's acknowledgement of that. Without even realising it, he'd been throwing it in her face since the minute she'd caught them in the dungeons, brewing all those unique and new potions. He had never once paid her a true compliment. And why should he have? A bossy Gryffindor know-it-all. There were plenty of other teachers to worship the ground she walked upon, what did she care that the Head of Slytherin house did not? Snape let out a snort of disgust before he even realised he was doing it.  
  
Finally, Hermione turned to look at him, and her eyes were bright with a stunning array of indistinguishable emotions. "What?" She asked, heat and fire pouring from her lips in that one, single, solitary word. Snape glared at her.  
  
"Your bitterness is so blatantly obvious it's almost painful, Professor." He said coolly, and this time did take special care to make sure he spat her title mockingly. Hermione's hand slowed to a crawl as she stirred the potion.  
  
"And why shouldn't it be?" She asked, and Snape's eyes widened in surprise as she planted her index finger on his chest. "I was probably the best student in your class. Certainly better than that prat Malfoy! But because of you, you insufferable, biased, creepy, dungeon-dwelling worm, I graduated second in the class. And you knew I was better!" She declared. Snape blinked in an unnatural moment of genuine surprise. He had given Malfoy a better mark than her, hadn't he? At the time it had seemed to make sense, even if the boy's potion didn't match up to Granger's. A way of bringing her down off her high horse. She graduated top of her class in every other subject after all. He certainly wasn't going to let a Gryffindor claim the glory in *his* class!  
  
"Are you quite through?" Snape asked. He would never admit that part of him felt regret, as he scowled down at her. That part of him berated his own mind for being so petty. Of course, not that she was much better, holding on to something so small for all this time. He raised an eyebrow. "Really, Professor, I would have thought you'd have gotten over that by now." He said silkily. So it was that he was caught completely off his guard when an enraged Hermione suddenly slapped him across the cheek.  
  
There was a quiet pause. Then suddenly her wrist was in his hand, and he was glaring at her with all the icy coldness he had ever possessed. And she was looking back, brimming with fire, bright and angry as a roaring hearth. "You and your Slytherins can go to hell!" She yelled suddenly, wrenching her wrist free of his grasp. Snape could tell she wanted nothing more than to stalk out of his office. To leave in an angry whirlwind. But instead she returned her gaze to the potion. "Now add the rest of that, and let's get this over with, Snape." She snarled. He opened his mouth to speak, but her eyes caught his before he could say a word. "And don't you dare say another thing." She added, and with that, promptly turned her back to him.  
  
~  
  
The days seemed to snail by as Demitrius spent every waking moment busy with one thing or another. He slept only five hours each night, grateful that he was fairly tall already, so the cups of coffee he downed every morning wouldn't be able to stunt his growth too badly. He rushed from class to class, doing homework as he sat at the lunch, breakfast, and dinner tables. The only time he was ever in the Slytherin Common Room was when he walked through it towards the dorms. Thankfully, seventh years didn't have much in the way of free-time either, so no one questioned his late arrivals to bed. Fitsgibbons seemed to be ignoring him. Which was fine with Demi, since he'd never liked the boy anyway, although he was curious to know who had put him up to getting him to Hogsmeade.  
  
Demitrius made a point to grab newspapers out of discarded piles whenever he could, going over recent events in the Daily Prophet. He restored the banners to the Meeting Room, though they were nowhere near as good as the ones Demi remembered, as he was not the artistic type. Dumbledore had provided him with the necessary school items, though the old man would say how they were procured or who had done the procuring. After dinner on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Demi went down to the dungeons, where he and Professor Snape worked on the potions he had listed. Snape proved himself to be only a little less brilliant than Demitrius remembered; His mind had yet to be driven as forcefully as it had been in his time. They planned on showing the 'new' potions at the exposition during the summer, though Demitrius would be unable to claim responsibility for any of them, as their source would be made far too obvious then.  
  
Tueday and Thursday evenings Demitrius worked with Professor Granger in her classroom. She proved the perfect person for dealing with every other item on his list, not that he had expected anything different, however unlike Snape she had no set plan for claiming credit on the spells. When Demitrius brought up the subject she had looked mortified. "I couldn't possibly take credit, they aren't mine!" She had declared, like he had just asked her to swallow a live cockroach.  
  
A week later, and Demitrius still wasn't sure how to get his point across with her. He supposed he would cross that bridge after they had expended his knowledge of future developments. Then, on weekends, he spent every available moment scouring over the information in the newspapers, trying desperately to figure out what the Death Eaters were up to, and looking for signs of Voldemort. He snarled at the articles on Potter. The man had made a name for himself as an auror, who played Seeker for the Chudley Cannons in his spare time. It seemed the world was still having troubles accepting that the Dark Lord had returned, and preferred to focus on the newest Quidditch whiz.  
  
But when they weren't focusing on a sport that was more abomination than anything else, the articles on Potter often left the biggest clues. The man was avidly searching for Voldemort. Demitrius did not know how his search would end, only that after Dumbledore's death Potter stopped looking and started sulking. Really, at least if Voldemort had killed Dumbledore Potter would have had revenge to fuel him, but since the old man just kicked it naturally he wussed out. Or at least that's how Demi thought of it. There was probably some really good, sympathetic psychological reason behind it, but he didn't really care about that drivel.  
  
Getting information was harder than he had thought, and trying to tap into the Order was like making an attempt to draw water out of stone, not overly fruitful. If anyone was better at hiding than Voldemort it was those wily Phoenix followers. The obvious move, in Demitrius' mind anyway, would have been to recruit a few students in this timeline and re-start a system similar to the one he'd had in the future. Eyes out, ears open, and everyone shares and dissects what they know. But somehow doing that felt like sacrilege.  
  
It was late Friday night when Demitrius finally gave up on convincing Hermione to just say she was brilliant, which she was, and take credit for all the things he'd showed her. 'The woman is hopeless.' He thought fondly, as he staggered in, moving past the Common Room with tired steps. Next time he would try a different approach, maybe getting her to share her knowledge with a few choice staff members. Surely they wouldn't be above claiming such marvellous spells as their own. Or maybe prompting Hermione into taking credit herself.  
  
His mind barely registered that something was wrong when he entered the dorm. It took him a moment to realise what it was. The beds, typically filled with sleeping seventh-years, were empty. Then suddenly, before his tired form could move, a surge of magic hit him as someone called out 'Petrificus Totalus!" His legs and arms clamped together at his sides, forced into him by the spell. A trap? In a Hogwarts dormitory? Who would be stupid enough to try and pull that off?  
  
His attacker chose that moment to come into view, flanked by all of the Slytherin seventh years. 'Oh, right.' Demitrius thought, as Fitsgibbons' familiar, meaty face came into view. Demitrius watched him curiously. Let's see. In about two seconds, the Head of House would be rudely awoken by a message saying that a curse had been used in the Slytherin seventh year dormitory. Then, the attackers would have about two minutes to get out of the area before Snape, irate as all hell, finally reached the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. Assuming that they would be able to get him out of sight by that time, which was looking more and more doubtful as the seconds went by, they would still have Filch, Peeves, and any other ghost wandering the hall to contend with, as well as the portraits. Who, though typically understanding towards student escapades, would undoubtedly sound the alarm at the sight of several Slytherins carting off a fellow student.  
  
"Not so slick now, are you?" Fitsgibbons said with a loud guffaw, as two seventh years cast the mobilicorpus spell on Demitrius. Demi would have raised an eyebrow if he could have. 'Probably not, you great oaf, but let's see you smile when you're explaining this to my father.' He thought rather whimsically. This brute must really be on hot coals if he was going to all these lengths over Demitrius. 'Guess we can completely rule out the crush theory, eh?'  
  
Suddenly a Slytherin seventh year, who had darted out as soon as Demi had been paralysed, rushed back in. 'Kevin, isn't it? I suppose you're going to tell everyone trouble's on the way.' Demitrius thought.  
  
"Hurry it up, Snape's just turned the corner!" Kevin said frantically. Demi was surprised as the spell cast upon his body moved him with a lurching gate over to his own bed. Realisation hit him as Kevin took out a bottle of purple goo and began smudging one of his friends' skin with it. 'Hey, you guys aren't as dim as Brutus, are you?' He thought as Kevin hastily put the jar away and dashed over to his own bed. Fitsgibbons whipped out his wand, as all but the painted seventh year darted under their covers, and held it pointed at the older boy. 'Oh, too bad, guess you didn't pay them enough to take the rap for you as well.' Demitrius thought. This was actually sort of entertaining, to his drowsy, battered mind anyway. He watched as Snape thundered into the dormitory.  
  
'I wonder if he'll notice my eyes are open and I'm stiff as a board?' Demitrius wondered. 'Nah, it's too dark.' He decided, as Snape began dolling out a punishment to Fitsgibbons, and ordered the seventh year boy to the infirmary. For a few moments none of the seventh years moved, as their colleague left, as did Snape and Brutus, the latter of whom was ordered back to his own dorm room. Then after a few minutes Brutus came back.  
  
"He fell for it, come on." He said. Demitrius felt his body suddenly lurch up again, and mused that it was a somewhat nauseating sensation. Then something made of a slick, fine fabric was tossed over his form, and he knew now how they planned to get past the paintings and Filch. The only thing he wanted to know is how on earth they'd managed to find one invisibility cloak, let alone two.  
  
'Well boys, I guess this should be interesting.' Demitrius thought. If nothing else, he would get to find out what this was all about.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: And that's that, until the next update. Hope everyone enjoyed it. Shout-outs are below!  
  
Tracy - WHAT?!? You have got to learn to sleep, that can't be healthy! Forget spelling. Go, shoo, off to bet wit' ye! Nah, I'm just joking, I've done that myself a few times. Glad you liked the chapter, and you're very welcome. I'm afraid I'm terribly fond of cliff-hangers, you'll have to find it in you're heart to forgive me. :D  
  
Bellemaine Chercoer - Glad you like it, and thanks for reviewing!  
  
Beth Ann - :D Yup, I like to update frequently. I'm a fast typer and I hate waiting for updates myself, so I try and lessen the burden on others. I bet Demi would be as hard as Snape to teach! Must be an intelligence thing, it's always difficult to deal with a student who thinks they know more than the teacher, in my opinion. ^-^. Sorry, I did mean to say 'wasn't'. I slip up with my grammar when I type from time to time, and usually I get too enthused with the prospect of writing the next chapter to re-read the last. And don't worry about pointing out small stuff. Makes me feel good, actually, when people can list my mistakes, as it means there aren't too many! ^-^  
  
Jessicat1982 - Thanks, hope I didn't disappoint!  
  
Isa - Yippee, that's what I was going for. Thanks for reading!  
  
Sonja S. - Glad you liked chapter seven. As for Dumbledore, well, maybe he *does* know what's going on. All we really know is that Demitrius doesn't think he does, and Demi can definitely underestimate people. I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore did have a deal with the paintings. Awe, hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he was psychic even. Now, to answer you second inquiry, Demitrius does not have a girlfriend in the future. Whether he gets one in this time remains to be seen. Thanks for reading and reviewing, hope you liked this last chapter! ^_^  
  
RoseFyre - Ha ha! I thought it might be something like that. Pretty admirably, really, where most wouldn't leave a review, you have a standard comment that lets people know you read. Which is pretty important, and better than just disappearing. I like it. Thanks for telling me! :D  
  
Treat - Meep! Such high praise! You really think I could be published? That's, well, WOW! Thank you so much! I really don't know what to say. Um, I'll keep you appraised of my work then. A fan! WOW! :D That's too cool.  
  
Goddessnmb1 - ^_^ Glad you liked it! As for Hermione taking cheek, well, it was nicely veiled cheek wasn't it? Let's just chalk it up to her having a lot on her mind, and Demitrius being a very charming young man. It's great that you liked the little run-in Snape and Herm had, hope you enjoyed chapter eight.  
  
Liesel - Yeah, heheh, I guess that was 'relatively' positive. Er, at least at the beginning... Thanks for reading and reviewing!  
  
Witchy-grrl - Yup, you've caught onto me, it is a ball to write. Thanks for reviewing, I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself. Demitrius is quite mature, but I wonder if that comes from living in his time, or being Snape and Hermione's son? Hmm. Oh well, hope you liked this chapter! :D  
  
Sarah T.- Thanks! :D  
  
Christina - Thanks, you got it!  
  
Kneazle - Yay! *Glomps Kneazle* I'm so glad you liked it, thanks so, so much for the picture! Hurra! Erm, only three of those Gryffindors weren't anonymous, at least to Demi. Hope you liked chapter eight by the way. My idea of romance requires a bit of patience to get through, and I do think you can rush SS/HG, so sorry if it seems like it's going in loopholes sometimes. It'll get there! Thanks for reading! :D  
  
Nicolette - Yup, that sentence made perfect sense, I'm happy you liked that part. Ah, old fall-backs are nice, and in this case I couldn't think of any better way to bring Severus and Hermione together than by literally throwing them at one another. Hope you liked chapter eight!  
  
Aiya - Yay, glad you liked it! Yup, 'Mione turned red as a beet.  
  
Jordan - Dun dun dun! Hope I didn't make ya wait too long! ^_^  
  
Aemos - Hi Aemos, lol, glad you liked chapter seven. Hope chapter eight was up to par! :D  
  
Black Amizon - Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying. I'm not sure what I'm doing either but it's good to know it's having positive results! ^-^ 


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the slight delay, FF.Net has been giving me large amounts of grief lately. A bit of a warning: I know, I'm terribly, horribly slow with romances, and your probably all wishing right now you could reach through the screen and throttle me. So since there's a definite lack of physical Snape/Hermione interaction this next chapter, I'm going to give you all something to look forward to: Chapter Nine has 'the kiss' in it. Now, go read!  
  
  
  
Snape suppressed a growl of displeasure as he stomped back to his quarters. That idiot Fitsgibbons! How on earth had he cornered a seventh year in the boy's own dormitory? And why? His eyes narrowed darkly. Well, that could be explained during his detention. Maybe he could take away the boy's prefect badge as well. Give it to a more worthy candidate...  
  
With a shrug Snape turned to enter his quarters. He raised his hand to his doorknob, only to pause. The potions magazine he had been using for his late-night reading was gone. Snape cursed darkly. Left in that den of serpents it would be gone by morning, unless, of course, he went back for it now. With a swish of dark robes and a menacing look Snape began to head back for the seventh year boys' dormitory. As he walked the thought occurred to him that perhaps Fitsgibbons had originally intended to attack Mr. Septimus. He'd heard of the pair's one-sided fight in the hallways from Professor Granger, who had thankfully distributed the last of their 'project' to every sentient thing in the school, and had no further reason to trouble his presence.  
  
Still, the idea that a seventh year Slytherin boy would stand up for his young colleague was decidedly unnatural. The sound of voices halted the rest of Snape's thoughts. He scowled. Students out of bed? This was too chronologically close to be a coincidence. He quickened his pace. Something definitely did not feel right. His eyes were as dark and as cold as steel as he rounded the corner, to find... Nothing. Snape blinked. No trace of students rustling down the halls, and once again, the corridors were as silent as stone. Not a breath, not a footstep in the distance.  
  
He stood there for several moments, puzzling. An invisibility cloak perhaps? Potter had caused havoc for years with one of those. But, such things were rare, and as far as he knew no Slytherin students had one. Not that they would exactly brag about such a possession. Taking a step forward, Snape reached out a hand, which glided through nothing but air. He scowled darkly. This mystery would not be solved tonight, he realised. With a snarl he continued on the rest of the way to the Slytherin Common Room.  
  
It wasn't until he reached the seventh year boys' dormitory that the unusual feeling of foreboding at his core began to grow. The beds were empty. A thought came to him then, one he didn't at all like, and he found himself storming down towards the fifth year dormitories. His magazine was now completely forgotten. He pulled open the door to the boys' rooms, and stared. One bed was empty. Snape cursed, ignoring the few groggy heads which looked up in surprise, and darted away, not even bothering to close the door in his wake. In order to confirm his suspicions he had to get to the infirmary.  
  
Snape's mind was working a mile and minute as he stalked down the corridors, as quickly as his long legs would let him. This time around, every seventh year in Slytherin was the child of a Death-Eater, a fact which had not concerned him when he placed Mr. Septimus in their dormitory. Of course, the simple truth that the boy exuded self-confidence probably had something to do with that. But now he thought of it, he wondered how he could have been so stupid. It was, of course, possible that Demitrius had simply accompanied the seventh years on some wild prank. But for some reason Snape was certain that wasn't in the boy's nature. Of course, a quick glance in the infirmary would either confirm or deny his suspicions.  
  
It seemed like mere seconds before he reached the familiar room, lorded over by the iron fist of Madam Pomfrey. One glance inside and he felt something similar to ice settle over him. The room was cold, empty, and completely devoid of an unfortunately cursed seventh year. He let loose a stream of words which would have all earned him detentions in his school days.  
  
This could not turn into anything positive.  
  
~  
  
'What, don't know the secret passageways?' Demitrius wondered at his kidnappers as he lurched along the grounds, headed for the gate. Of course, in his time they'd all been bordered up, ways out were ways in as well. Er, okay, so maybe that rule wasn't entirely concrete in Hogwarts, but they'd still taken the precaution. In this time though they were as open and free to be used as they were when Hogwarts was first built. He knew that, because he'd helped with the boarding-up bit.  
  
Of course, no one answered him. Demitrius fought the urge to vomit again. Really, if they had any brains at all he should be floating along quietly, not blundering clumsily beneath the pull of the mobilicorpus spell. Which they kept having to renew, along with the petrifying curse. 'Getting tired? Well, if this thing wears off before we get to Hogsmeade, I'm going to make you all wish you'd been born squibs.' He thought darkly. This little escapade was interfering with his schedule. He should be sleeping now! Of course, in his own slightly twisted curiosity, he also wanted to see who it was that had him kidnapped. Maybe it was You-Know-Who himself. Demitrius snarled inwardly. Well, the work was sloppy enough for it, but at this point in time the Voldemort should still be piss-in-his-pants terrified of Dumbledore. As they approached Hogsmeade, the seventh-year who was controlling him from beneath the same cloak shirked it off of them. 'Ah, won't be needing it within the hallowed halls of Death-Eater central?' He thought.  
  
As their unique little group went past the gates to Hogsmeade, Demi found himself looking around in wonderment, instantly forgetting his earlier blithe mental comment. He'd had the place described to him before. But, this town, even while looking so sleepy, was absolutely impressive. Demi found himself wishing for freedom of movement to go and explore things. He'd forgotten what places outside of Hogwarts were like. Understandable, considering how long it had been since he'd seen one. A collection of smaller buildings, each one for a different thing, with cobbled streets and tons of people. Of course, late at night there were only a few shady characters about. But still, it was amazing! The idea of living in a place that was it's own separate, outside unit, instead of part of one large building. Now he understood why so many of the older people had spoken of it so fondly.  
  
His impressed thoughts turned back to the matter at hand as he was promptly walked into a building wall. "Hey, watch it with that, he's not to be damaged!" He heard Fitsgibbons hiss. Had Demitrius been able to use his mouth, he would have cursed. That was painful! But as it was he settled on thinking thoughts of revenge. If he wasn't back at Hogwarts by Monday the professors would notice he was gone, if not before then even. Of course they would still have no idea where he went or how to look for him. So, the odds of a rescue being close at hand were slim to none. He'd made no friends in or out of his house since his arrival. And, since he disappeared into the Meeting Room on weekends, his absence would be far from conspicuous.  
  
Which meant that he was stuck in this situation on his own. But, still, there were things he knew about himself that his captors were likely not to. Spoils of war, one might say. Like virtually every student in his time the Imperius curse was a no-brainer. It had been almost useless by the time the final battle came around, as all but the weakest minds had been honed to resist it. Veritaserum, too, had no effect on him, although that gift was a little more Demitrius-specific than the other. When he was a child his father used to give him small draughts of the potion in his pumpkin juice. At first Demi assumed it was to keep him from lying, he was only young after all. But a year of that and he found that the potion had no effect on him whatsoever. His father had made certain this happened when Demi was young, and had the ability to develop such immunities.  
  
'Hmm, they've stopped paying attention again.' Demitrius thought with amusement as he lumbered off the sidewalk and across the street. A brief curse, some wand-waving, and he was back on track. 'You know, you guys really should be more on-your-guard.' He mused. For some reason his sleepy brain was in a very whimsical mood.  
  
Then, suddenly, he was turning in towards a very run-down looking building. "This is the place." Fitsgibbons said. Demi watched in amusement as his captors all promptly dropped to their knees and began looking for something. 'Ah! A portkey. Well, that's boringly predictable.' He thought. Of course, there was the slim chance they were all looking for a trap-door, but Demitrius some how doubted that. Especially when Kevin asked "What's it look like?". As far as he could tell, Kevin was the only one with a single brain-cell to go off of, so his asking what a trap door looked like didn't really sing of likelihood for Option B.  
  
The portkey theory began to look very concrete when suddenly one of the other seventh years kicked an empty box of Berty Blotts Every Flavour Beans out from behind a bush. "Found it!" He declared rather smugly.  
  
"Good work." Fitsgibbons said. Then, suddenly, Demi felt himself moving forward again. Oh damn. A portkey could take him anywhere. Against his will he felt himself lean forward. As his hand touched the seemingly innocuous box, there was a lurch. The feeling of something pulling him from behind his navel yanked him forward. As the space between he and his captors lengthened greatly, he felt the curses on his body snap away.  
  
Demi stumbled into a dank, cold room, and before he even caught his own feet he had his wand out and pointing at the offending figure across from him. He was beyond disconcerted, but tried very valiantly not to show that. And succeeded. Demi stood, after stumbling only a little on his landing, wand held tightly before him and eyes fixed into the darkness. Or at least looking fixed. He was actually a bit on the dizzy side, to be honest.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" A voice from his left called out. Damn. So, there was more than one. His wand flew from his grasp over to the other figure. Demitrius titled his head slightly to try and take in both at the same time. Unlike the individual before him, the second man was not hidden in shadow. He was big and beefy, going a bit grey, and had a distinctly 'Fitsgibbons-ish' look to him. Probably a relative of that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect's.  
  
"Imperio!" The shadowy figure across from him said. And suddenly, there was a little voice in Demitrius' mind, telling him to go and sit in the chair to his right. Telling him he wanted to go and sit in that chair. Feeling game, Demi walked over to the chair and sat down. It had restraints built in. As soon as he was sitting, he felt the straps wind themselves around his arms, legs, and waist. It was almost too funny. He fought hard to suppress his smirk, and sit there, looking blank and unthreatening. "Ethan, leave." The shadowy figure said.  
  
Hmm, use of first names. So whoever had him didn't plan on letting him go any time soon. Demitrius carefully observed his location. Judging by the lack of windows in the room, he was underground, either a basement or a dungeon. The lighting was purposefully dim. However, it was beginning to look more like a small dungeon, judging by the stone walls. And floor. He heard the footsteps before he even saw the man, approaching from behind. The effects of the Imperius had ebbed away. He could have ignored the earlier commands, and made a wild run for his captor, but that would have been a very idiotic thing to do. Better to let this person grow complacent before making a move.  
  
"So, you're Demitrius Septimus. But then I've seen you before." The man said. A person from the future? No, not likely. Demi felt his teeth grit together. That voice was a mockery of the familiar silk-on-steel tones he and his father could use. Less silk, and the steel was a bit rusted. He knew who this was. Logically, emotionally, he could tell who had 'captured' him and it made his blood run cold with anger.  
  
Draco Malfoy stepped into view, and Demitrius made no effort to keep the expression of loathing off his face. Suddenly outright assaulting the man didn't seem like such a bad idea. Malfoy's expression was cold and dark as he regarded Demitrius carefully. "So, you're the little boy from the future?" He stated more than asked, and Demi could hear the inquiry beneath Malfoy's tones. The man wasn't sure what to make of him.  
  
"So, you're the bastard who had me brought here?" Demitrius asked in a mockingly similar tone. Anger flashed briefly in Malfoy's eyes, before he made a sound similar to 'tsk, tsk'.  
  
"My, you sound positively parched. Drink this." The older man instructed him, and before Demitrius could think up a witty response, Draco-the- Unoriginal had cast the Imperius curse upon him again. 'Drink the liquid, go on, you must drink the liquid.' A very weak and unconvincing voice in his mind sort of half-suggested. Malfoy held the glass up to his lips. Again, Demi had to fight a smile. Far be it for him to miss a golden opportunity to mess with Draco Malfoy's head. He drank what was undoubtedly Veritaserum. Malfoy stepped back, a smug look on his face, and Demi had the sense to display a somewhat shattered expression as the Imperius wore off.  
  
"What is your name?" Malfoy asked. Demitrius thought quickly. The way Malfoy said it, this wasn't your customary 'test' question, like 'what colour is the sky?' or 'what year is it?' but something he actually wanted to know. The only thing he could think of popped out, and it was the most revolting declaration he had ever made in his lifetime. Ever. His father would have him skinned alive for it.  
  
"Demitrius Potter." 'And may I never, ever, in eight thousand lifetimes have to imply *that* again.' Demi thought darkly. He would have to wash out his mouth with the most effective mouth-wash he could put together when he got back to Hogwarts. But, at least Malfoy had the sense to look equally shell-shocked. 'What? Not expecting that?' Demi thought. Well, it wasn't as if he strutted around like a Gryffindor god, was it? Nope, all strutting was definitely of a Slytherin prince nature.  
  
Draco Malfoy was slow on the uptake, the wheels in his mind obviously working around quickly as he thought. Probably wondering how someone as sophisticated, skilled, intelligent, and elegant as Demi could ever possibly share in the Potter bloodline. 'Maybe it was too far-fetched. Hope he doesn't delve a little too deeply, or he might figure me out.' Demitrius thought as he waited for Malfoy to finally move past question one. Despite the awful nature of his first answer, this could be fun.  
  
Snapping out of his brooding, Malfoy seemed to come back to reality. "Are you Harry Potter's then?" He asked.  
  
"Yes." Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon. He didn't even know if there were any other Potters! However, his answer seemed to agree with Malfoy's train of thought, and the man continued with more gracefulness than previously shown.  
  
"And who is your mother?" He asked. Really, these biased pureblood Death- Eater types put far too much emphasis on genetic heritage. Ah well, might as well remove both parents from the line of fire then, Malfoy apparently already hated his mother. No reason to encourage that sentiment even further.  
  
"Evelyn Potter." Ha! Made up person! Malfoy would have to take a while to figure out that one, and the git knew it, judging by the way he paused.  
  
"You are from the future?"  
  
"Yes." Demitrius had a natural flare for keeping emotion out of his voice when he wanted to. And, because Veritaserum was very different from the Imperius, he could glower at Malfoy all he liked while he did it.  
  
"Why did you come back through time?"  
  
"To assassinate Cornelius Fudge." This was fun! If he didn't despise his interrogator so much, he might have actually had to work to hide his enjoyment. Of course, the fact that it was Draco Malfoy's mind he was messing with made it all the more sweet a game.  
  
Malfoy looked decidedly confused. "Why?" He asked. Demitrius fought back a smile as his mind worked very fast. Ooh, the possibilities!  
  
"After Fudge unlocks the Key of Pureblood Power and defeats the Dark Lord his arrogance overtakes him, and the world falls to ruin." He explained. And naturally had to swallow back a laugh at the thought of that idiot Fudge becoming a force to reckon with. In actuality to dunderhead would be booted out of office a few years from now, replaced by Lucius Malfoy, and given Dumbledore's position as headmaster. And a pathetic headmaster he would be, too. Little more than a cringing, fearful servant underneath Voldemort's whip.  
  
Malfoy seemed to roll this information over in his head, and Demi had to remind himself firmly to keep things relatively realistic. Of course he had blown that boundary away with his first answer, but still, Malfoy wasn't as thick as his lackeys. He managed to live for quite some time by scheming around in dark corners. Finally the man seemed to decide on his next question. "The Key of Pureblood Power. What is that?" He asked.  
  
"Locked away in the frozen regions of northern Canada is a tomb to a pureblood wizard named Igor Ibbens, who created a pendant that granted absolute magical power when worn by a pureblooded wizard." Demitrius lied. His false story was beginning to sound eerily familiar to a fantasy story Lucy had been working on in her second year, only with the word 'pureblood' thrown in a few more times than in the original. 'Believe it, buy it, come on Malfoy you blonde prat.' Demitrius thought. He would love nothing more than to have Draco Malfoy rooting around in northern Canada for the next little while, finding absolutely nothing for his efforts... Demi's thoughts of glee halted. He was such a moron! What if what he was doing interfered with Marcus' birth?  
  
Malfoy had the gleam of avarice in his eyes, and Demitrius felt something hard lodge itself in his throat. Oh shit. What to do now? "Where in northern Canada is this tomb?" Malfoy asked. Demi began to formulate a new plan in his mind.  
  
"I don't know." He said. Then, he purposefully made himself look greatly relieved, as though Malfoy had followed a train of thought he had wanted him to. Like a good little Slytherin Draco took the bait. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
  
"But the pendant isn't in the tomb, is it? You never said it was." He more mused than asked. "So, where is the Key of Pureblood Power?" Malfoy demanded, a bit heatedly. Alright, here was Demi's chance to try and undo some damage.  
  
"In the halls of a pureblood home. No one knows which, only that Fudge found the pendant while visiting a formal meeting in a wealthy estate." Demitrius said. He plastered on a look of frustration and resignation. There, now. That should keep Malfoy safely at home rummaging through every nook and cranny, going over family heirlooms, and hopefully getting him to interact with his wife in the process. The bait was set, and Draco took it.  
  
"So it could be here?" He said, with that gleam back in his eyes.  
  
"Yes." Demitrius answered in that same automatic voice. It never hurt to keep up appearances. Suddenly Malfoy snapped his gaze over to him.  
  
"Where do I fit into this future?" He asked curiously.  
  
"You ally yourself with Fudge after Voldemort's death, and kill Harry Potter." Demitrius said. Then, because it never hurt to add a bit of drama to a good performance, he stole himself and spat on Malfoy's cheek. Oh by the gods did that feel good. While the line about Potter was most definitely a lie, Malfoy had taken a parent from him, and Demitrius didn't have to act to display that particular hatred. Not one bit of the malice in his gaze was insincere.  
  
"How?" Malfoy asked with a dark gleam. 'You dirty bastard! Want to play your hand early, do you?' Demitrius thought angrily. Well, he wouldn't be orchestrating anything for quite sometime if Demitrius could place the right cards on the table.  
  
"You poison him." Demitrius said. Uncreative, but it didn't give Malfoy a lot to work with. The Slytherin seemed to notice that as well. He looked almost like he wanted to pout, and the words 'spoiled brat' sprung up in Demi's mind.  
  
After that, Malfoy asked a few more questions, and Demitrius fought to keep his answers reasonable. By the time the older man had finished his interrogation for the night, he had a very colourful, and very incorrect portrait of the future in his mind. When they were done he smirked as though in triumph. "Well, we shall have to continue our conversation tomorrow, Mr. Potter." Malfoy sneered. Demitrius fought the urge to vomit. He had a nasty taste in his mouth now. And with that, Malfoy strutted from the room, leaving him strapped to the chair. Unable to leave.  
  
Well, at least that's what Malfoy thought.  
  
~  
  
Hermione woke with a start. It was late, no sunlight streamed into her quarters, and for the life of her she couldn't place what had roused her consciousness. Foggy memories, like a nightmare were drifting away from her. Well, nightmares weren't that uncommon to her. Once she'd had a particularly nasty one where she watched Harry being eaten alive by a Dementor. Reaching over to her bedside table, she took a sip of water to calm her nerves, and tried to remember what this one had been about. Something to do with spiders...  
  
A knock on her outside door drew her mind away, and she blinked in surprise. Someone knocking on her door so late? She stood from her bed and gathered a robe around her shoulders. A block of ice settled in the pit of her stomach. This could not be good. Had something gone wrong with some of the students? Did the potion she and Snape brew have an unpleasant side-effect neither had foreseen? She herself felt fine. Worry crowding her, she went over to the door to her quarters and pulled it open.  
  
Argus Filch stood there, in all his unpleasant and ill-kempt glory. "Emergency staff meeting in the headmaster's office." Filch said with distaste, and before Hermione could inquire further, moved off. An emergency meeting. So, it was bad, wasn't it? Not wanting to waste any time, she tied her robe tightly around herself, slipped on a pair of fuzzy blue slippers, and made her way towards the gargoyle that stood sentry for Dumbledore's domain.  
  
When she got there, she found the way in had already been opened, and there were voices coming from inside. Hermione recognised one instantly as being Snape's. Though he was in a far viler mood, from how it sounded, than even she was used to.  
  
"...Don't see why everyone needs to be here, Albus!" Snape said heatedly, obviously part-way through a rant of some sort. Hermione moved inside the room, and took in the scene. Dumbledore was sitting as serenely as usual behind his desk, though there was decidedly worried look to his face. Snape was on his feet and pacing. McGonagall was there, looking just as dumb-founded as Hermione felt, as were Professors Flitwick and Sprout.  
  
"Ah, Hermione, good, good." Dumbledore said, and suddenly Snape whirled to stare at her. The look in his eyes was indeed very dark and angry. So much so that Hermione had to fight the urge to cringe away. She would later reflect that on that night, he seemed a dark beast, not completely in control of the mask that hid his true feelings away. But then, it was late, and the circumstances were certainly straining. At a wave from the headmaster Hermione took a seat. One comfortably close to McGonagall. "I believe we can begin explanations now." Dumbledore said. "Severus? If you wouldn't mind taking a seat, please? You pacing is detrimental to the atmosphere."  
  
Snape looked like he wanted to say something about Dumbledore being detrimental to that atmosphere, but bit his tongue and sat down with a scowl. And then suddenly Albus Dumbledore was all serious and no twinkle. "Tonight, not an hour ago, a student was abducted from Hogwarts by several of his fellows." Dumbledore said. There were a few startled gasps and exclamations.  
  
"How, Albus?" McGonagall asked, regrouping herself quite quickly.  
  
"And who?" Flitwick added. Hermione couldn't fight off the rising feeling of foreboding in her stomach. It was like when she heard people talking about Harry without saying his name, but she knew who they meant all the same. Only this time it wasn't Harry who sprung to mind. One look at Snape was all she needed to confirm her suspicions.  
  
And suddenly, she felt very, very angry at Severus Snape. Before she even knew what she was doing Hermione had sprung to her feet, glaring at Snape with all the anger and intimidation she could muster. "Right from under your nose?!?" She half-yelled, and everyone looked at her in surprise. Including Snape. Hermione didn't notice, however, nor did she see the keen observation she was now receiving from both Dumbledore and McGonagall. "I don't believe this! You and your stupid favouritism, always playing games with your precious Slytherins egos, but now you've let it go too far." Hermione said darkly. "Kidnapping, in Hogwarts! If you didn't walk around with blinders on wherever your House was concerned..."  
  
It was fair to say that Snape had gone from shocked to fuming. "Like you would do any better, the way you followed Potter and his little fanclub around, blind to all the havoc that boy caused! You have no idea what it takes to control the cunning minds of Slytherin students, blustering around with false bravado, never without your nose in a book. Well I'm sorry to disappoint, Granger, but life isn't always black and white!" Snape retorted darkly. Hermione glared at him. For all the boy's somewhat insufferable nature, she liked him. She liked Demitrius. He was bright, and cocky, and there was something... familiar. Something home-like to him. And for some reason, the idea of his being in the hands of Death Eaters was causing an explosion of nerves in her, making her want to retch and scream.  
  
It seemed to be having a similar effect on Snape. Which wasn't as odd as it should have been. Before the fight could get bloody, Dumbledore intervened. "Well, Severus, Hermione, I can see no point in laying blame at anyone's feet right now." The headmaster said, using just the right tones to make them both feel somewhat abashed. Was there anyone that man couldn't manipulate? She suddenly wondered if he wouldn't have made a very impressive Slytherin. But then, that thought was a little frightening as well.  
  
"The student taken was our intrepid traveller, Demitrius Septimus." Dumbeldore continued, for the benefit of those who didn't have Hermione's keen insight on the matter. There were a few startled looks. "As I'm sure you all must realise, having someone with knowledge of the future placed in Voldemort's hands is a most unpleasant prospect." He continued, ignoring the few winces all around at his use of the Dark Lord's name.  
  
"He was taken by other students?" McGonagall asked. Snape sneered, but more at himself than anyone else.  
  
"Fitsgibbons in his grade and all the Slytherin seventh-year boys, as far as I can tell." He said darkly. "And before you ask, Minerva, we're fairly certain he didn't go willingly." Snape added. Hermione sank back into her seat. This was awful. A fifteen-year-old kid in the clutches of several ruthless Death Eaters. Demitrius was intelligent and skilled, but he was still young. Surely there would be no way for him to escape?  
  
"I imagine we'll find the seventh years have looser tongues that young Mr. Fitsgibbons, though I doubt they intended for you to figure out their plan so swiftly, Severus." Dumbledore said with a note of approval. To Hermione's surprise, Snape seemed to take no pleasure in the modest compliment. He seemed more frayed and worried than anything else. "Severus, I shall put you and Hermione in charge of recovering our lost student." Dumbledore said. Both professors seemed momentarily caught off their guards. Snape recovered first.  
  
"Why?" He snapped, seeming to forget his usual grace. Hermione looked at him sharply.  
  
"Because I'm the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, which means I have precedence over student safety, and you're his Head of House." She said in her best Know-It-All voice. Then her eyes glanced quickly over at Dumbledore, and she added mentally: 'Plus the headmaster has a really nasty sense of humour sometimes.'  
  
As though he had read her thoughts, Albus Dumbledore smiled.  
  
  
  
A/N: And that's that. Ordinarily, there would now be shout-outs, but I've had enough troubles logging in to upload this sucker, I don't want to chance trying to get at my reviews. Which I'll try and read tomorrow when I have the patience to sit down and click 'Refresh' nine million times again. Thanks for reading, assuming of course that you actually manage to get to the this chapter! 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hey everyone, I'm baaaack! First off I'd like to make an apology: I said the 'kiss' was in chapter nine, which was a numerical error in my part. I was veeeeeeeery sleep by the time I wrote the author's notes. What I meant to say was that it was in this chapter, and I'm extremely sorry if I mislead some of you, although my dark side hasn't failed to place the humour in the idea of furthering certain readers' desires to throttle me. Shout outs will be at the end of the chapter. Now, enough of my inane babble!  
  
  
  
Demitrius waited until he was absolutely certain Malfoy had no intention of returning. He sighed, looking around at the darkened stone walls, and shifting in his restraints. There could be, or actually probably was, observation devices positioned all over the room. And Malfoy still had his wand. Not that he could get to it without displaying certain talents even if it was still in the room, but the idea of that twisted blond freak keeping *his* wand was enough to make him want to hit something.  
  
As it was he only clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. He was tired. Too many days of too little sleep and too much work, and the day before hadn't been exactly easy-going. It was hard to think straight and stay awake. Which was why, whether or not Malfoy was watching him, he needed to get away. Now. So, keeping his eyes shut tight, he concentrated on a very familiar, almost comforting act.  
  
The world grew larger, and his body was wracked with a familiar sense of disconcertion, as four limbs became eight, and two eyes became six. Course black hair stretched over him as he shrank, and pearly white teeth became sharp, venom-filled fangs. In a matter of seconds the restraints on the chair were too large for him. He paused a moment, standing on the seat, and felt the vibrations in the room. His spider instincts told him the place was pleasant. Cool, dark, empty, and completely devoid of the presence of larger animals.  
  
Carefully Demi crawled down from the chair. His fractured vision took in the room, and gazed with longing towards the dark corners, before turning over to the slim line of light that was coming from around a doorway. The way out. His spider mind balked, as a tremor filled the air around the door. Something big passing by. Couldn't he just find a nice dark corner and go to sleep? 'No.' His human consciousness said firmly. He had to get out, now that he'd acquired the information he needed. If he stayed in the basement/dungeon any longer, Malfoy would find him, and he would loose a trump card. Carefully he made his way over to the door.  
  
The problem with Demi's animagus form was that, while a spider was a small animal, he was a somewhat large variety. And on top of that, he was unusually large for that large variety. So, while a normal tarantula may have been able to crawl underneath the doorway, one the size of a fairly plump rat or squirrel could most definitely not. He considered changing back and trying the door handle. Just to open the door, and then he could transform back into his animagus state and slip out.  
  
Demitrius decided to go for it. He concentrated on changing back, falling into his usual state of half-being as he tried to turn his form back to human shape. Tried, but failed. It was several more times before he finally realised what was wrong. And then cursed himself for it. He was too tired. Turning into his animagus form was a type of wandless magic, and as every good witch or wizard could tell you, wandless magic was a draining thing to go through. Demi stood there a minute, and thought of what he should do. He tried climbing the door up to the lock, but he was never very good at the whole climbing-walls thing, and failed miserably. After a time he left the door to search the room for other exits.  
  
It was twenty minutes before he finally gave up on that. One way in, and one way out. He wished he knew how to apparate. But even in his time that particular skill was only taught to adults. Finally, he decided the only thing for it was to locate a good hiding spot and get some rest. At least the room didn't lack in hiding places. The chair he sat in had been at a central point in the dungeon/basement, the shadows spread out to form a wall before it, and two longer rooms on either side. Longer rooms filled with old devices and contraptions Demitrius didn't look to closely at.  
  
The place he chose was behind a large table, propped vertically against the wall, with straps for constraining a person on it. He decided not to think about what function the rather nasty piece of furniture would serve, and instead crept into the shadows behind it. The gentle darkness soothed his spider's mind.  
  
Demitrius began to drift into a very deep, and much needed, sleep. The mind of a wizard or witch did not change when they were in animagus form. Their senses and perspective often did, and instincts became different as well, but their minds were always the same. Unlike in standard transfiguration. Were Demi to transfigure himself into a spider, he would become a spider in all senses, until he was changed back into a person. An animagus form was different, however, for it represented the individual's animal self. The key word being 'self'. So while the form, and consequently a few other things, changed, Demitrius' mind stayed the same.  
  
Which meant that, as usual, to hope for a dreamless sleep was futile. Even as a spider.  
  
In the dream, he was five years old again, and sitting on his mother's lap. "Where's Daddy?" He inquired innocently, and wondered at the look of sadness on his mother's face. It wasn't uncommon for his father to leave. But, he'd been gone for three days now, and that *was* odd. Hermione shushed him and brushed a stray lock of hair from his face.  
  
"I don't know, Demi, but he'll be back soon." She said. Demitrius wondered at the tears that began to spill from his Mum's warm brown eyes. He didn't like to see her cry. Was his Daddy hurt? Had those bad people got him? He scowled as his Mum held him close. He hated the bad people! The 'Death Eaters'!! They made everyone sad, and made Mum cry, and were the reason his Daddy had to go away so often. He wished he could beat them all up, yell at them to stop what they were doing!  
  
Then suddenly, the fireplace in their quarters erupted into life, and a crumpled figure came rolling into their sitting room. "Severus!" His mother exclaimed, quickly placing Demi on the ground as she raced over to his father's fallen body. Demitrius looked at him in horror. There was blood all over his Daddy, and his arm was twisted at a funny angle. He watched as his mother performed a few spells. The blood stopped running. She raced over to the floo, and called up to the infirmary, but all the little Demitrius could do was stare.  
  
"Daddy?" He choked suddenly, in a quiet, scared little voice. The man on the carpet looked up at him, his deep black eyes filled with pain.  
  
"Demi?" He asked, before his eyes rolled up into his head, and he passed out. Demitrius ran. He ran away, up to his room, so he wouldn't have to look at his father. Not like that. He didn't want to see him like that, broken and beaten, beaten by the 'Death Eaters'.  
  
"I'll get them all someday!" The little child vowed, as he threw himself on his bed, and began to sob. His Daddy would be fine now, Mum could fix anything that hurt, she was the smartest lady Demi had ever seen. Smarter, even, than Professor McGonagall. Daddy would be fine now. But the people who did this never paid! No one ever got them back, and Demi couldn't stand it. He pounded his pillows in frustration, tears streaming down his cheeks as he wished with all his might that he was big and strong.  
  
He screamed and raged, until suddenly, he wasn't a five-year-old any more, but nine and standing in Headmaster Fudge's office. And he wasn't raging. He was calm and cold, standing next to his father. Mum had an 'accident' outside the London Library. She was hit my a muggle car, and died. But not even Demi believed that. She was too smart to be killed by a muggle thing, and if the way his Dad shook was any indication, he thought so as well. "Malfoy. It was him, wasn't it?" Snape hissed, and Fudge bristled.  
  
Malfoy. Demitrius suddenly lunged at Fudge, wanted to wring the truth from his neck, wanting to hurt him. To hurt the people who had killed his Mum, because she was smart and pretty, because he parents were muggles, but she never let that stop her. Because she was different from them. His hands closed around Fudge's throat, but suddenly it wasn't Fudge he was holding any more. It was Draco Malfoy. The man sneered at him, and Demi felt that anger burn inside him. He clenched his hands tighter than he thought possible. Malfoy's eyes widened. He thrashed and sputtered, but nothing he did could stop Demitrius. His pale skin turned an odd sort of purple, and his eyes bugged out. Still, Demi didn't stop squeezing until every trace of life had fled the form before him. And then he let go. Exhilaration filled him. He'd done it, he'd killed the monster who killed his mother, who was the reason his father went out for revenge.  
  
Demi looked at the corpse with triumph. But then, the dead face changed. The slick blonde hair got longer, fluffier, and the hard, dead eyes became more round and soft. Demitrius took a step back. What had he done? "You killed me, Demi. Why did you do it?" The corpse suddenly asked. Demi fell to his knees as Marcus rose from the ground, purple bruises around his neck, his skin pale with death.  
  
"I didn't mean to." He said. "It wasn't you, it was Draco! Draco Malfoy!"  
  
"You killed *me*!" Marcus insisted, and all at once, he was no longer alone. Familiar faces began to surround him. All marred by fatal wounds, pale and dead. The members of the SR. His friends. They stood around Marcus, looking at Demitrius in pain and disgust.  
  
"Don't I have a right to exist, too, Demi?" Marigold asked, her shiny blonde hair falling around a neck that had been sliced open.  
  
"You never cared, did you? It was always you this, and you that. What does it matter if you destroy us all? So long as you can be happy... Why should you care..." Jared accused darkly, his pale form surrounded by an eerie green glow.  
  
"Greedy Slytherin monster! You are a hypocrite! To judge the likes of Malfoy, when you're no better yourself!" Sam accused. Her face was almost completely covered in blood. Demi shook his head and looked at them in horror.  
  
"No, no, I'm trying to make things better! Don't you see?" He pleaded. This couldn't be happening! He crumpled onto the ground. "I don't want you all to be dead. Please, please, let me wake up to find this a dream... It's too much! I don't want to loose you all!" Demi shouted, and pounded at the ground, no longer nine but fifteen now.  
  
"Quit whining." Marcus said, in a harsh, cruel voice he would never have used in life. "You can't change anything. What are you? A fifteen-year- old boy, with a lot of ego, and nothing else?" He asked darkly. "There's nothing you can do that isn't wrong. That isn't evil."  
  
Demitrius looked up. Was he right? Was there nothing he could do? No. No, that was not something Marcus, or any of the others, would ever say. He was their leader. They believed in him, trusted him. And it was not that trust which had lead them to ruin. "He did that, not me." Demi whispered. "He's evil, not me. Even trying to stop him, even in failing, it's a better life than blind subservience. I am a fifteen-year-old. But I'm better than him, not stronger, but better. And I did not kill any of you!" He said, and rose to his feet, looking at the faces that haunted his nightmares. They stood there, dead, ghosts of a thing he would never allow to pass. Not if he could stop it. "I'm Demitrius Snape. Snape. I'm my parents son! And if there's a way, I'll find it. I promise you." He declared. "Even if some of you never exist because of it. Don't you think it's worth it, to save the world? Don't you think there are some things bigger than this? That I'd risk myself, risk everything, to stop him? Even Slytherin monsters can see things past their own ambitions, however great." And then, it was the ghosts' turn to fall, to crumple beneath his gaze.  
  
"Demi?" The fading image of Marcus asked, as the sounds of a battle began to echo through the world. "Please, don't kill my father." The blond youth begged. And before Demitrius could answer, he awoke to the real world, and the sound of an angered shout.  
  
~  
  
Snape turned out to be right about the seventh years'. While Fitsgibbons sat there, a sullen lump who refused to speak, his fellows ratted out the entire plot. With the understanding, of course, that they wouldn't be expelled. Which didn't mean they failed to earn a punishment. The group would spend every evening for the rest of the year at the mercy of Filch and Mrs. Norris. Not something Hermione was ordinarily happy to see a student go through. But in this case, she made and exception.  
  
It took about .5 seconds for her to decide she was leaving for Hogsmeade, even if Snape insisted it was a waste of time. "If they used a portkey, going there is pointless..." He argued fiercely. One thing they hadn't been able to get out of the boys was where the portkey led to, as apparently none of them knew. Nor did they have any idea who it was who wanted Demitrius. Only that they were supposed to be paid for their actions, and that the one in charge was a very 'influential' person. Meaning high-ranking Death Eater.  
  
"It may be pointless, but at least it's something." Hermione argued. In truth, she didn't know what else to do. They'd gotten permission from the headmaster to use Veritaserum on Fitsgibbons (though in all honesty both Snape and Hermione had already decided they would do it anyway) and even he wasn't sure who the 'ring-leader' was. His instructions came from his father. And it would take a lot more than school rules and policy to get to question Ethan Fitsgibbons. Hermione, for once, didn't at all like the idea of plunging through all that red tape.  
  
Snape sneered. They stood outside his office, where the students were, arguing over the next step. He seemed about ready to disagree with her again. But after a moment, he remained silent, and then nodded just a little. The look on his face was still one of disapproval, but a more resigned sort. "Fine. I'll take these boys to the headmaster. You, get ready, we'll leave as soon as that's done." He snapped. Hermione fought the urge to bite a comment back at him about his ordering her around. Now was not the time for disagreements, when they could be avoided.  
  
With a curt nod she stalked off, out of the dungeons. This whole situation was driving her nuts! Working with Snape again was bad enough, but the fact that Demitrius' safe return was in their hands, it made it all the more difficult to cope with. She stormed up to her quarters. They were located fairly close to the library, something which was probably either a favour or a joke on the headmaster's behalf. Or maybe both. As quickly as she could she grabbed her outdoor cloak. The weather had been warming lately, but it was never good to be caught off your guard by a sudden shower or bite of cold. She ignored Crookshanks as he rubbed up against her leg. He seemed to get the idea, perceptive creature that he was, and backed off.  
  
As Hermione left her rooms, however, a thought occurred to her. It would only take a minute, and it was something Snape would never really approve of. Stealing herself she dashed off in the direction of the Owlry. She made the trip in almost record time, a little out of breath from running. Unfortunately more than a couple students had turned to stare as their DADA teacher pounded down the hallways.  
  
Reaching into her pocket, she drew out a small pen and a slip of parchment. Never hurt to be prepared, and despite the traditions of the wizarding world, pens were just plain easier to keep on-hand. For one thing, they didn't require a bottle of ink to accompany them. And with that she began to write.  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
Something's happened at Hogwarts. A student's been taken. Tall, dark hair, Slytherin. Please keep an eye out for him? He's very bright, and NO, he's not one of You-Know-Who's. Tell Harry as well, would you?  
  
Love, Hermione.  
  
P.S. How are you?  
  
She glanced at the finished note. It would have to do. Looking around, she quickly spotted a small grey owl, who had a reputation for speedy deliveries. He hopped over when she waved and she slipped the note into the canister on his leg. "Take this to Ron Weasley, would you? And quickly." She said. The owl gave an agreeable 'hoot' and then took off. Hermione had found out a while back that it was easier to contact Ron, and get him to talk to Harry, than vice-versa. If for no other reason than that Harry's mail was intercepted and summarily burned thanks to his countless fans.  
  
With that, Hermione quickly dashed off to meet Snape at the entrance. He was waiting impatiently when she arrived. "Decided to stroll through the gardens a bit, did we?" He asked mockingly, and she glared at him.  
  
"Don't start." She simply stated, and to his surprise, swept past him. As she did so her shoulder brushed his, and she felt a breath tingle of breath on the side of her cheek. His breath. A tiny thrill stirred inside her, and she wondered at it.  
  
The pair made their way to Hogsmeade as quickly as they could. While Snape's long, elegant stride gave him an advantage speed-wise, Hermione managed to keep up admirably. Especially considering she'd just dashed half-way across the castle and back. "Really, Professor, if you want me to slow down all you need do is ask." Snape sneered as she fell a few steps behind. Hermione raised her head defiantly.  
  
"No, thank you, that's quite alright." She said, and quickened her pace, trying to outdo him. He matched her, and she increased the speed even further. So, naturally, the only thing for it was for him to go faster, and soon the two of them were running alongside, oblivious to how silly they looked in their attempt to outdo one another.  
  
Until Snape, distracted as he looked fixedly at Hermione, misplaced his foot against a bit of jutting earth. His eyes widened in surprise, as suddenly he fell to the ground in a great heap of black robes, and tumbled a bit. Hermione stopped dead. "Professor?" She asked, a bit concerned.  
  
However, when Snape looked up, a few tufts of grass plastered to his forehead, she burst out laughing. Her face turned red with mirth at the sight. Snape, the most intimidating, creepy force in all of Hogwarts, sitting in the grass with smushed plant-matter stuck to his face. Her legs refused to hold her anymore and she collapsed onto the ground. Snape, on the other hand, stood up. He brushed his robes off angrily, oblivious to the condition of his forehead. Which of course only made Hermione laugh harder. Especially when he tried to fix her with an intimidating glare. "Cease this childishness!" He demanded darkly, and Hermione wiped a tear of glee from her eye.  
  
"That's rich, coming from the man who practically challenged me to a race five seconds ago." She accused, and he bristled angrily.  
  
"I did no such thing!" He insisted, and Hermione broke out into a new fit of giggles, unable to stop herself. Embarrassed and angry, Snape began to storm off. And while the idea of letting him march into Hogsmeade looking exactly as he did was... tempting, to say the least, he would likely never forgive her for it.  
  
"Wait!" She said suddenly, and dashed over to him. When he didn't stop she grabbed his shoulder. He whirled on her. A vision of fury. With grass stuck to him. Hermione desperately bit back another giggle. Reaching up she made to touch his forehead. His eyes widened, and he flinched away.  
  
"What are you doing?" He asked. Hermione rolled her eyes and pointed at his head.  
  
"You've got grass stuck to you." She said. He started in surprise, and before either one of them could think, Hermione reached over and gently peeled the smushed grass away. It left a tiny green mark on his forehead, which was surprisingly... Cute. And suddenly, Hermione became very aware of how close the two of them were standing. Mere inches apart. And Snape wasn't scowling any more. Her eyes widened as he suddenly reached over to her own face, and pushed back a stray lock of brown hair.  
  
His lips had her attention now, though why she honestly couldn't say at the time. They were pale and soft-looking, not as full or inviting as she'd seen some lips be, but she couldn't resist the urge to feel them, explore them with her own. Neither was sure who moved first. But suddenly, she could taste his mouth upon her own. His lips were cold, but gentle, and yes, very soft. Soft but definitely *there*. A shock ran through her as she pressed her own against them. Hermione had only kissed a few men in her lifetime. No, correction, she'd kissed a few 'boys' in her life. But none of that was every so intoxicating. Nice, yes, but just that. Nice. She ran her tongue along the line of his mouth, and felt him open automatically.  
  
He tasted a lot like tea, she realised with delight. A hand came up, folding itself into her soft hair, and she trailed a hand along the ropy muscles of his shoulders. Part of her was screaming that this was all terribly strange, but another, more prominent part mused that this was something she could do forever. The rest of the day, at least. What on earth had she been up to before this?  
  
And then she remembered.  
  
With a sudden jerk she pushed Snape away. He looked startled at first, but she barely took the time to notice. "We shouldn't be doing this!" She said suddenly. Something akin to pain flashed in Snape's eyes, before being replaced with resolve.  
  
"You're right. I apologise, I hadn't meant to..." He began, but stopped when he saw the look of surprise on Hermione's face.  
  
"What? Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that!" She said, suddenly realising what she must have sounded like. "We have to get to Hogsmeade, there isn't time." Hermione elaborated, and for a second, she thought she saw relief cross Snape's features. Suddenly aware of what their actions had been, Hermione turned a vibrant shade of crimson, and whirled around to start walking again. Snape followed suit, this time at a far more reasonable pace. Neither one of them said anything the rest of the trek.  
  
~  
  
"No! How could he have apparated?!?" Draco Malfoy shouted angrily. For it was, in fact, the only way the boy could have escaped. The only way out had been locked and bolted from the outside before he left. The restraints on the chair were completely undamaged, no sign of being cut, or broken in any fashion at all. Which meant he must have apparated.  
  
But how? First of all, no fifteen-year-old would ever be put through the rigors of learning that particular magic. Well, of course, that standard could change in the future. But then there was also the fact that Malfoy Manor was surrounded by anti-apparation wards, among other things. An annoyance, to be sure, but a necessary one. So how had he done it? He gave another shout of frustration and kicked the chair before him. This wouldn't do. The boy would go crawling back to Dumbledore, and explain all he had revealed to Malfoy, and putting him at great risk. Not from the justice system; No wizard in his right mind would try to put Draco Malfoy under lock and key. No, the problem would come from Potter, who was already watching him like an annoying gnat as it was. This would only sharpen that pompous little Gryffindor's gaze.  
  
So caught up in his thoughts was Malfoy, that he failed to notice the shadow which darted from a corner of the room, and out through the open doorway behind him. Instead he shot the chair one last distasteful look, before turning to go, his eyes alight with rage. There was nothing he could do. By now, Potter's brat would be safely back under a much firmer lock and key, having distributed his information already. What a mess. But, he thought with a self-satisfied smile, at least he had some inkling of what was to come. More than an inkling, really. The Key to Pureblood Power. He would have it, in this timeline at least, and Fudge be dammed. If it gave that bungler the power to overthrow the Dark Lord... His eyes glazed over with greed at the thought. In his hands, it would make him unstoppable!  
  
Smirking as thoroughly as he had been when he first approached the room, Malfoy left it. In this new light even his insufferable little meeting didn't seem so bad. He stalked up a flight of stairs, moving down several elegantly furnished hallways to his sitting room. All the while oblivious to the spider-shaped ghost which haunted his footsteps, dashing in and out of corners.  
  
Annette was waiting for him when he walked into the room, dressed in pale blue robes, and buzzing a bit from her recent intake of breakfast. "Draco, you look lovely. Another meeting?" She said airily. He smirked and planted a lazy kiss on her cheek.  
  
"Yes, I only hope that moron Potter and his side-kick Weasley have the taste not to show up." He said darkly, and Annette offered him a sympathetic look.  
  
"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure the Ministry will pick up on their incompetence eventually. Especially if they're half as bad as you say." She told him, and smiled lightly. Really, she was quite pretty, if a little pale and thin. And dumb, of course, but then that was one of the reasons he liked her. She never picked up on information he could spill. And really, when it came right down to it, women Death Eaters were only good for one thing. Which wasn't the sort of thing you wanted your wife doing.  
  
"Ha! Potter's been riding that fame of his long enough, the Ministry will boil before they'll get rid of him as they should." Malfoy said, his usual words coming out in his usual tone. Annette nodded sympathetically. Then, leaning over, brushed her lips against his own.  
  
"Poor love, it won't always be like that." She assured him naively. Malfoy nodded. Then he quickly moved away from her, going over to the floo. Neither of them saw the a dark shape scurry from one shadow to another, choosing a location closer to the fireplace. "Try and have a good day anyway." Annette said lightly, and Draco snorted as he took the floo powder from the mantle.  
  
"As if it were possible." He said. Then, he took a handful of the stuff and stepped into the fireplace. "Auror's Meeting Room 19638." He instructed. And just as he threw the powder, his eyes widened in shock, when something large and black jumped onto his boot. Then he was speeding away, up the floo, and had no more time to think.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: And, done! See? Smooching-ness happened! :D Now, shout-outs!  
  
Aemos: Lol, I don't think you say 'brilliant' EVERY review, but it's gotta be a lot of them. Still makes me ecstatic when you do, by the way. ^_^ Yay, I'm so glad you liked the chapter, hope you enjoyed chapter ten! Now my head's all swelled up!  
  
white raven: Yay, I'm so happy! I blew you away! Thanks for the review, I'm glad you're so impressed with Demi's tale.  
  
Durven: Wow, I love your name! And I'm glad you had such a blast reading my story. Usually I shy away from OC-based stories myself, mostly because they're typically not well-thought-out, and I'm very glad you liked Demitrius. Who's name you spelled right by the way, but calling him DS or Demi is fine as well. Easier to type as well. As for the story line, my lips are tightly sealed, but I'm glad it's got you thinking. Hope you liked this last addition, and haven't gone crazy by now. Thanks for the review! :D  
  
Luna Writer: Ah, it's great you think it's realistic! Thanks so much for the review, I'm glad you enjoyed it.  
  
Aqua Child: Lol, here's the next chapter. I'm glad that worked out to your advantage! That's pretty cool, wish it would happen to me once in a while. ^_^  
  
Madame Corleone: Hey, it's ok, 'very nice' is good by my. Go, find your nice happy words! :D  
  
Potionsgurl: Glad you liked it, and thanks for the review! Ah, I love it when Sev and Hermione fight myself, and it's been a blast to portray 'Mione as getting 'mom-vibes' and not knowing what they are. Also, the manipulation scene was guiltily entertaining from my perspective as well.  
  
Fleab: Holly re-reads her Author's Note for chapter nine. Holly proceeds to pull out revolver and shoot herself. Demitrius, angry that this means his story will no longer be told, puts Holly back together and stalks off. Holly then apologises to her readers, and proceeds to delight at the prospect of more of Fleab's art.  
  
Aiya: Lol, yup, silly Dumbly-dore.  
  
Witchy-grrl: Thanks so much, and sorry there was no smooching in ch. 9. But it wasn't such a long wait, now, was it? ^_^ Yes, Albus Dumbledore is an evil old codger, and the tragic nature of my tale isn't quite lost on me. Though maybe if Demi succeeds the lack of stress will give him a few more years. Meh, who knows? Oh, wait, ME! Mwahahahahaha... Er, sorry. Brief power rush. Anyway, as for my posting so quickly, there are three reasons for that. One, this is my only story, and really the most prominent 'spare-time' thing I do. Two, I type really, really fast, and don't often re-read, which leads to a few grammatical errors now and then. And three, the whole thing's planned out, so I don't have to spend a long time going 'what should happen now?' Anyway, thanks for reading!  
  
risi: Thanks for reviewing, I honestly can't remember if you've done it before either, but, meh, it's all good. As for Demi's perspective on Harry, I will say it's greatly biased, by both his father and his view- point on things. But we'll get into that later. And, yes, Harry will be making an appearance, I actually planned for him to be in this chapter but had to stretch things out a little more than I though I would. Hope you liked the last chapter! ^_^  
  
Goddessnmb1: Yay, thanks, I'm glad you liked it! Yup, if anyone can mess with another's head, it's a Slytherin, to be certain. That part was so fun to write. ^_~ And, well, as for the sad part, I'm not making any promises, but no sadness comes without hope! :D Or at least, that seems to be the general theme of most S/H romances. Now, as for FF.Net *pulls out a flame- thrower, and evil glint to her eyes.* I believe the moderators and I are going to have a little 'chat'...  
  
Jessicat1982: Thanks for the sight recommendation, I've posted it on Whispers now too, as you know! Er, I think I explained the veritaserum immunity, but if you missed it it's because used to give him little doses when he was young to build up his resistance. The Imperius thing gets explained a little better later. Thanks as always for reading, and reviewing, and I hope to see more of ya! :D  
  
Eirete: I wrote more, I wrote more, now don't die! Okay? Okay. :D So glad you liked ch. 9, and the veritaserum story. I'd hoped it wasn't far- fetched. Thanks for reading, and reviewing, and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed chapter ten!  
  
fairykissedtheprincess: Here! Hope you didn't wait to long, and thanks very much!  
  
Moira McDuff: :D Thanks, I'm so happy you enjoyed reading it. The truth syrum bit was very entertaining when I wrote it, so I'd hoped it would go over well. Maybe by the time I finish this story FF.Net will stop being such a hassle. Maybe, but not likely. Still, it's good to know I'm not the only one having troubles, as slightly sadistic as that is. Thanks for reviewing! ^_^  
  
pigwidgeon37: YAY! *Glomps Susanna* I was wondering if you'd review again. Thanks so much for doing so! It's great you liked chapters eight and nine so much, and that you think Demi's character is coming along smoothly. Wish I could take credit, but building him up's been pretty easy, so I'll just say it's a blast to write him instead. Hope Severus and Hermione's little kiss wasn't too soon. It's hard to tell when what should happen, but this is where I had it planned, so I guess I'll just have to trust you and the other reviewers to be the judges. Thanks for reading, and as always, I hope you liked the previous chapter!  
  
Gabriele: Your most very welcome, and thank you for all the reviews you've been giving me! They're really a fabulous encouragement. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter, and I'm glad you liked the part where Demi spat in Malfoy's face. Can't you just picture a little Demi, walking around all put-out because his father made it so he can't lie? ^_^ Glad you liked reading it, and I also think humour and intensity work well in combination. I think it's more realistic that way. Thanks for reading, as always! :D  
  
Isa: I hurried, I hurried! And a copy of Kneazle's picture is in my care, but she has no website, so if you want it I can e-mail it to you. Just lemme know in an e-mail, or a review leaving you e-mail address if you want it! ^_^  
  
revel-in-me: That's wonderful, I'm so happy you enjoyed the story so far! :D  
  
Beth Ann: Yup, the review worked, all though it took a lot of patience to get to see it. Ugh. Glad you think the story's getting better, 'salways great to get such nice encouragement. Hope you liked the last chapter! :D  
  
Kneazle: Hey Kneazle, glad you enjoyed the chapter. FF.Net's a bit like a spoiled child, isn't it? You never know what'll set it off, and only a lot of patience can solve the problem. I certainly hope Demi's not too 'perfect', but I'm happy you're enjoying his character! See ya 'round! ^_^  
  
Nicolette: :D Hey, hope you liked chapter ten. Glad you like Demi's little white lies.  
  
Strange, annonymous person who left no name: Thanks, I'm enjoying my characterisation of Malfoy. Sure wish I knew what to call ya though... 


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hey everyone, I've managed to get chapter eleven up at long last. To those of you who dislike spiders (as a few of you have mentioned in your reviews) I'm going to apologise now for what's coming. As for those who are like me, and absolutely love the creepy buggers, enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
  
Auror's meetings take place in very secretive rooms. Kept in special locations, no two rooms are ever used twice in a row, and the entire area is a blocked off with an anti-magic shielding spell. That way, should anyone get it into their heads that they want to attack the aurors while they're all together, they'll have to do it without magic. And it's simple principle that no follower of the Dark Lord would ever pick up a machine gun, lest they taint their pureblood hands with muggle tools.  
  
Because of the no-magic shielding, aurors may only reach the room via a special floo network, as apparition is out of the question. And that floo is very carefully watched to ensure that *only* aurors get through. So it was that when a very terrified-looking Draco Malfoy plunged through the opening, a cry on his lips, that about twenty aurors were on their feet and looking for a fight. Which wasn't exactly what the got.  
  
Demitrius had clung onto Malfoy's shoe, disgusting as it was, for the entire ride up the floo. He hadn't desired to be blown away into an entirely foreign network. When he first left the dungeon/basement room, he hadn't thought much past getting out of Malfoy's house. Until he realised that he would be just as lost outside the Manor as he was inside, having seen so little of the world beyond Hogwarts, and very nearly lost his cool at the thought. Until he overheard the man's conversation with his wife. What better help for a kidnapped student than a room full of aurors?  
  
So it was that Demi found himself latched firmly onto one of his most hated enemies' feet, trying desperately to resist the urge to sink his fangs into the man's soft ankle. Marcus' voice kept resounding in his head every time he came close. And then, all too soon, the option was lost as Malfoy tumbled through the grate with a shout. As he did so, his leg kicked out, and Demi finally lost his grip.  
  
Spiders aren't meant to fly. Probably one of the reasons Demitrius despised Quidditch so much, was that he was not designed for high-speed air travel. So it was that he felt himself fill with dread, both the spider parts of his mind and the human, as he was launched rather recklessly into the air. Instinct screamed 'Dead, we're dead, this is it!!' at him, until suddenly, he landed on something soft. Soft and red. Demi paused for a minute in surprise. Who would have thought the aurors would keep a red carpet in one of their meeting rooms? But, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this wasn't a carpet he'd landed on. "Ron!" He heard a familiar voice shout, and then it hit him, all rather suddenly, as the 'thing' he'd landed on began to shake quite violently.  
  
Demi braced himself. And with good reason, too, because in another few seconds he felt something very hard whack him from his place on Weasley's head. There was the sound of shouting in the air. And then, well, air. Lots of it. Demitrius watched in terror as his spider form was flung through what could only be one thing: A window frame. And the window was open.  
  
His first thought was:  
  
Fast Moving Spider + Hard Ground = Dead.  
  
His second thought was:  
  
Fast Moving Human + Hard Ground = Slightly Less Dead.  
  
And so it was that Demitrius did something he had never done, nor ever wanted to do, in his life. He transformed from his spider shape, back into his human, while plummeting from what looked to be a third story window. His body twisted back into it's more natural form. The amount of nausea he was in increased, a combination of the transforming process, the sickening sensation of falling, and his own abject terror.  
  
Crack. Mind-blowing pain flared up from his left side as he crashed into something very hard. A tree branch. And the crack came not from the tree, but from his arm, which was now twisted at a rather terrible angle. Then there was no longer anything between himself and the ground, and he landed, crying out in pain as he smashed rather mercilessly into the earth. Stars blinked and blotched across his vision. Briefly, Demi wondered if he would die. The thought crossed him as a rather funny one. He let out a bark of pained, slightly delirious laughter, before unconsciousness claimed him and his eyes rolled shut.  
  
~  
  
Harry was used to expecting trouble from Malfoy. After all, the boy hadn't failed to disappoint him on that account since their first year at Hogwarts. Still, it was something of a surprise, standing in the meeting room talking shop with Ron, to have Malfoy erupt from the floo with a horrendous shout. What was even more surprising was watching the blond man kick a huge, scary, venomous black tarantula right onto Ron's head. So surprising that at first nobody made a move. Then all hell broke loose. "Ron!" Harry shouted, as two of the other aurors grabbed Malfoy and pulled him to his feet. The redhead began to shake with visible horror as all colour drained from his face. Auror Regina Bradley, who had been standing propped up against the wall but minutes before, had taken her wand out and with typical muggle-born style used it to whack the spider right off of Ron's head.  
  
The entire room watched as the arachnid went flying, through the air, and right out the open window. And all Harry could think for the first few moments was: 'He hasn't been this obvious since we graduated!' Meaning, of course, Malfoy. Ron was just standing there, looking extremely pale and shaken. Not that Harry could blame him. His friend still hadn't gotten over his fear of spiders. Boggarts, Banshees, Vampires, all were in his skill to handle, but spiders still had the power to shock him quiet. Even if it only lasted a few minutes these days. Of course, Harry could understand that fear. Dementors still made him nauseous. "Weasley, you alright?" Regina asked, as Malfoy shook himself free of the two other aurors' grasps.  
  
"Y-yeah." Ron managed to choke out, and Harry offered him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.  
  
"What the hell's the big idea, Malfoy? This is a serious meeting!" He said, suddenly rounding on his arch nemesis. More than anything Harry wished he could get something substantial on Malfoy. Something his family name and family money couldn't save him from, and get the Death Eater spy thrown into Azkaban once and for all. But just wishing never made anything come true.  
  
Before Malfoy could answer, however, a pained and very human shout burst into the room from the outside. In a flash Harry, Ron, and any other auror who was close enough had darted over to the window. "Did it land on someone?" Ron asked, regaining himself finally and showing his concern. But the sight that greeted them from below was not one any had expected.  
  
There was no spider, lying dead on the ground. Nor was there a frantic person trying to dislodge one from their head, though that would have been unlikely, as this particular Meeting Room was located in a secluded Order Safe-House. A healthy oak tree, who's branches had reached out towards the building, had lost one such limb. Snapped in half by the fall of something definitely not spider-sized. And lying on the ground was a human boy. A Hogwarts student, to be more precise, judging by the robes and glittering badge Harry could make out. "Merlin's beard!" Ron exclaimed.  
  
"Ron, Bradley, Carol, come with me. The rest of you keep an eye on Malfoy." Harry said. There were a few nods, but Malfoy fixed him with a dark look.  
  
"I don't remember you being crowned King of Aurors, Potter." He said darkly, even as his fellows glared at him with suspicion. Harry shifted his emerald green gaze to match Malfoy's icy blue one.  
  
"Shut it, Malfoy." Ron snapped, and with that the four named aurors stalked out of the Meeting Room. "What do you suppose he's up to?" The redhead whispered, as soon as the door had swung shut behind them. Harry shrugged. For some reason, this seemed decidedly un-Malfoyish. While it wasn't above him to throw a punch or a petty insult, this whole thing seemed more than a little on the chaotic side. If he was going to be honest with himself Harry would have to say he had no clue what was going on. This was just... Bizarre.  
  
It didn't take long for them to get outside. Once they were, all four aurors drew their wands. "You three stay back." Harry asked, and his words were met with no resistance as he moved forward carefully, to examine the boy before him. He lowered a hand to take his pulse, and noticed that his arm was twisted in a very awkward way. 'Broken.' His mind told him firmly. But, only the arm it seemed, and not the neck, for the kid was still breathing. Harry looked at his face. He blinked. How odd, it was almost like... No, it couldn't be. He shook his head. What was going on here? He looked around, checking for something to confirm his suspicions. There was no spider.  
  
His gaze returned to the boy. Which meant that this, here, was their spider. An animagus. Harry frowned. An unregistered one, too, it seemed. But that still didn't explain why he'd come through the floo with Malfoy. Was it all some elaborate trap? Well, trap or no trap, something needed to be done. The meeting would have to be postponed. "Alright. Ron, come help me. We'll levitate him in and let Winston look at him." He instructed. 'And then Malfoy'll have some explaining to do.' Harry added to himself, as Ron walked over, and together they got the boy's limp body in the air. "Bradley, Carol? Mind opening the doors?" He asked, and in a flash the two aurors went to do just that.  
  
Careful not to bash their floating charge into anything, Ron and Harry manoeuvred him inside, eventually depositing him on a sofa in the Safe House's sitting room, mindful of his broken arm. And careful of everything else too. There could be internal injuries. "I'll go get Winston." Amos Carol offered, and tucking his wand back into it's place, bounded up the steps to the Meeting Room.  
  
"Right. Now, time for Malfoy." Ron said, and began rolling up his sleeves as he made to follow the other auror.  
  
"Ron, wait. We'll do that part when we're all together." Harry advised, grabbing Ron's arm to stop him from moving away. With a dejected grumble his friend shrugged him off.  
  
"All together means witnesses Harry!" He said, but all the same broke a half-smile, knowing full well that his friend was right. Harry laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"That goes two ways, you know." He explained. Then both stopped at the thudding sound of Winston Bicks' footsteps, as the auror came down, following after his colleague. Before the war broke out Winston had been training to be a mediwizard. However, times of need are times of action, and since he was a very skilled wizard the man had made a change of professions. But the skills he learned while apprenticing at St. Mungo's often proved to be a very useful thing. For starters, it had kept a lot of Winston's fellows from looking like Moody had before the old wizard met his end.  
  
Harry and Ron moved aside to let the older auror look at the boy. The man pulled out his wand, and after saying a quick spell, a pale green mirror of the young man's skeleton popped into existence just above his unconscious form. Winston looked at it carefully. "Broken arm, two places." The man murmured, looking over everything. "Seems to be it." He muttered, and waved his wand, causing the skeletal image to vanish. The other four aurors watched as he performed other tasks, checking for internal bleeding or head damage, before mending the broken limb. "He's a got a light concussion, so we should probably wake him up. Other than that I'd say he's lucky. The tree broke his arm, and his fall, all in one." Winston explained.  
  
"I'll go get some Pepper-up Potion. I think Agnes keeps some on hand, just in case." Auror Bradley offered. A few minutes later she was back, and handing a small bottle to Winston. Harry looked at the older man.  
  
"I think we should get Malfoy down here for this, don't you?" He asked. A nod, and then Potter set off to ask that their 'fellow auror' be brought down. He couldn't be certain, but he had the uncanny suspicion that this was just the opportunity he'd been waiting for.  
  
~  
  
Severus Snape felt like a fish out of water. Whatever his element was, it most certainly was not romance. He placed his eyes on anything and everything but Hermione Granger as they made the rest of the trip to Hogsmeade, not particularly sure what to say or do. He wasn't even certain which one of them had made the first move. Although, he had to admit, he was somewhat grateful she'd pulled the grass off his forehead. For more reasons than one.  
  
He was certain to keep his face a stony mask as he remembered the kiss. Her lips were soft and sweet, as curious and exploring as her nature. She hadn't pulled away in disgust. At first, that's what he thought had happened, when she jerked away so suddenly. That she'd realised just who it was she had been kissing, and immediately desired nothing more than to run away and douse her mouth in antibacterial washes. Not an entirely unfounded reaction. While Snape may have once been what some would consider 'handsome', time and his own inner darkness had ensured that no one felt the need to be close to him. His mouth still tingled, her taste lingering on his lips. What did it mean? He risked a glance at her out of the corner of his eye.  
  
She was beautiful. He'd had that thought fleetingly, on and off, for some time now. The awkward stages of her childhood had melted away, and like a butterfly from it's cocoon, Hermione Granger had grown more lovely than any would have guessed. Had she enjoyed kissing him? Snape banished the preposterous notion. He, her old, creepy, shadow-skulking professor? A man she supposedly hated?  
  
And what about him? This was the annoying Gryffindor muggle-born, who had been one-third of an ever-lasting scholastic nightmare. A child. And yet, she most certainly wasn't a child anymore, was she? Young, yes, but... What did all this mean? "Professor?" Hermione said, and Snape winced a little at the name. Reminding him just how inappropriate these thoughts were. He'd been her teacher, for Merlin's sake!  
  
"Yes?" He asked, and she seemed to notice his discomfort. Her cheeks were still a little flushed.  
  
"I, er, what direction?" She asked, and Snape blinked.  
  
"What?" He inquired, slightly caught off guard. What did she mean, 'direction'? But when she looked at him he was surprised to see her expression was a little amused.  
  
"What direction is that old house those boys mentioned? We are going there, aren't we?" Hermione rephrased her question, and Snape felt a twinge of embarrassment. Of course, what had be been thinking? They were here on a mission. And as he'd learned long ago, distractions on missions meant almost instantaneous failure.  
  
"Further down the street, past the Shreiking Shack." Snape said curtly. His nerves really were on edge. Maybe that was why he'd lost control for moment, giving into lust and weakness for just a few seconds, and loosing control to Hermione's feminine wiles. Never mind that the idea of bookworm, Know-It-All, innocent young Professor Granger wouldn't know how to use her feminine charms if there were eighty books on it all stacked in front of her. Or that 'lust' just somehow didn't same like the right word. But Snape refused to believe it could ever possibly be anything more than that. Lust, just lust.  
  
And yet, he'd seen beautiful women before, and never found himself so utterly distracted. What was it? The combination of that beauty with intelligence? No, rare though it was he'd seen that as well. How could this former student turn his head? He suppressed a snort of disgust. A former student. Perhaps he was just becoming more and more depraved as the years went on.  
  
His thoughts were brought to a halt as the structure they were looking for caught his sight. It was old and dilapidated, not even remotely well cared for. The roof was stripped and falling on itself. Windows and doors were boarded up, and the plant life of the front yard had begun to overtake the house, tendrils of ivy creeping up and along the walls. "I guess this is it." Hermione said, taking in the surroundings carefully.  
  
Snape sighed inwardly. He knew coming here was pointless, a portkey left nothing behind. But then again, he hadn't much enjoyed the idea of standing around, twiddling his thumbs while he pondered in his office. The Death Eaters did not have the same moral inhibitions as Albus Dumbledore did. They were unlikely to hesitate in asking after future events, drilling young Demitrius until they had sapped every last ounce of information. Snape's eyes narrowed as Hermione began walking around the building, looking for clues or whatever might satisfy her. He'd been on uneasy ground with Voldemort ever since he returned. The Dark Lord kept keen eyes upon him, but Snape was sure to tread lightly. Lucius had long ago figured out where his 'friend's true loyalties lay, but as long as he had no proof, his accusations seemed nothing more than typical Slytherin power-struggles.  
  
He'd known nothing of a plot to abduct to Demitrius. Whether this was the work of a lone Death Eater, or Voldemort had simply kept such knowledge from him, he did not know. Something caught Snape's attention, suddenly, from the corner of his eye. He turned to look at Hermione. She stood, a little ways off, her wand drawn. Soft, delicate lips were mouthing the whispered words of an incantation. He frowned. What was she up to?  
  
"Preo Annus!" She said sharply, and Snape jumped aside as shadow images leapt up from the earth at his feet.  
  
"What are you doing?" He hissed at Hermione, startled. She grabbed his arm and pulled him sharply away, much to his surprise.  
  
"Preo Annus, the Past Events spell." She explained. "It's a variation on Priori Incantatem, only it uses a location, instead of a wand. Shows the last spell used in a certain spot. It was a long shot, but..." Here she stopped, as the shadow-images began to take shape. They were soft and a fuzzy blue colour, almost translucent. Snape's eyes widened in surprise as he saw the image of Demitrius, obviously under the influence of several spells, touching down upon the empty box of Berty Blott's Every Flavour Beans. Like a wink, the boy disappeared, and the scene quickly faded thereafter.  
  
For a moment neither Snape, nor Hermione spoke. They stood unconsciously close together. "Well, at least now we're sure of it." Hermione said after a time. Her voice was so close, Snape almost jumped, and he quickly moved a further distance away. A blush tinted Hermione's cheeks, and she quickly looked down, her eyes deciding to focus on her watch instead. "Er, uh... Oh, look, it's almost noon. Where did the time go?" She said falsely, obvious uncomfortable.  
  
Snape opened his mouth to say something. However, he was rather rudely cut off, and not by Hermione either. But by a dark and burning pain that erupted from his own forearm. Before he could think Snape let out a hiss of anguish and clamped a hand down over the Dark Mark, his vision blurring a little at the searing, almost agonising sensation. And one that was all too familiar as well. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked suddenly, and laid a concerned hand upon his shoulder.  
  
"Don't touch me!" Snape spat suddenly, and batted her hand away. He looked at her face. It was filled with concern, and a little hurt, at being so harshly dismissed. But Snape had no time, nor will, to apologise. Pain, by it's very nature, can invoke two great reactions in a living thing: Fear, and anger. And both such emotions often prompt violent responses. Snape was no exception to that rule.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked more carefully, this time keeping her hands firmly at her sides.  
  
"I'm being summoned. Go, back to Hogwarts. Now." Snape ordered, and left no room for debate in his voice. The young woman before him looked at him with a torn expression. 'Foolish Gryffindor sentimentality.' Snape thought darkly, before he clenched his teeth as a new wave of pain overtook him. He needed to apparate quickly. "Hermione, GO!" He yelled, and with one last look, she did as asked.  
  
~  
  
Hermione ran, as quickly as she could, back to Hogwarts. Summoned. He was being summoned. The thought put a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, like a ball of cold, hard ice. Dumbeldore would know what to do, wouldn't he? 'I shouldn't leave him!' Her mind told her, and she felt confusion swell in her, even as she ran past curious gazes. But what else could she do? Running felt like betrayal, or cowardice.  
  
She stopped. Should she go back? Turning a little, she looked down the way she came. No, he'd be gone by now, wouldn't he? Hermione shook her head, before starting off again. The best thing she could do would be to get to Dumbledore. 'Who would have ever pictured this? Hermione Granger, frantic over Severus Snape!' She thought. And what was he to her, anyway? What were her feelings? They'd kissed. But, this was a man she hated!  
  
Wasn't it? He was brilliant, more brilliant than any other professor she'd known. Certainly he could be a real condescending bastard at times. And he'd never, ever, acknowledged the fact that she was talented. No matter how hard she tried, Snape was the one teacher who didn't crack. But did that matter? What did she want from him, a standing ovation? And why did his opinion mean so much? Hermione barrelled down a corner, crossing the street and being careful not to displace a young witch who was going by. She'd kissed him. Or he'd kissed her, one of the two. But why? Why had she done it?  
  
He was the youngest teacher on staff aside from her. He was handsome, in a sort of dark, eerie, master-of-the-dammed kind of way. And now that she thought of it, she'd always been a sucker for the tragic hero. Harry definitely fit that bill, and her old boyfriend, Viktor, had too. And she had to admit, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise Snape *was* something of a hero. Recent events were a testament to that. He spied on people, once his friends, for the sake of a greater good. And because of the very nature of his heroics, they would never be recognised.  
  
No wonder he hated Harry so much. Cold as it sounded, all he had to do to earn his fame was live. To be placed in a spotlight Snape himself had long ago given up on, it seemed, by circumstance alone. Without realising it Hermione began to cry. What if he died? What if Voldemort killed him, and no one would know everything he'd done? She hadn't been looking forward to talking to him about that kiss. But now, she'd rather have a thousand awkward conversations with him than never see him again.  
  
Before she knew it Hermione was on the Hogwarts ground again. Her breaths were deep and ragged, and she tired from a day filled with running. As she dashed along her right leg suddenly gave out, and she collapsed, crying and tired onto the ground. And so very worried as well. "Hermione?" A concerned voice asked, and something large eclipsed her from the sunlight.  
  
Tilting her face, she looked up. "Hagrid?" She asked, and suddenly big, warm hands were clasping her shoulders and bringing her to her feet.  
  
"What's 'appened? Are yeh hurt?" Hagrid asked in concern, and drawing a deep breath, Hermione shook her head.  
  
"No, I'm fine, but I have to tell Dumbledore Professor Snape's been summoned by Voldemort." She said. For some reason, calling him 'Professor Snape' just didn't feel right. An image floated to her mind, of his face looking up into hers, a map of pain.  
  
"Hermione, GO!"  
  
Hermione. He'd used her first name. Hagrid held onto her shoulder firmly, as she bit her lower lip to keep from crying again. "Come on now, come with me." He urged her, and began leading her over to his home, concern written on his face.  
  
"No, I have to go see Dumbledore..." She said, but Hagrid shook his head.  
  
"No, yeh don'. In fact yeh shouldn't." He told her as they walked, soon reaching his front door. He pulled it open and led her inside and onto a chair. "Sit there, an' I'll make yeh some tea." Hagrid told her. Hermione looked at him imploringly.  
  
"Why shouldn't I go to Dumbledore?" She asked, letting curiosity briefly blot out her worry as she watched the half-giant go about the business of heating tea. A tea she was unlikely to drink, knowing Hagrid's cooking skills, but it was a gesture not lost on her.  
  
"Because, Hermione, 'e told me once not ta go runnin' when this sort o' thing happened. Don' want ta give away anythin', yeh know?" Hagrid explained, and suddenly it made sense. Of course. Snape was a spy, this was hardly the first time something like this would have happened. And having someone tell Dumbledore each time there was a gathering of Death Eaters would be a little obvious. Students might relay things to parents, and Voldemort's followers would get suspicious. How could she have been so thick?  
  
"Oh." She managed to say, and realising what a mess her face must have looked, raised a hand to wipe at her tears. She took the cup of tea Hagrid placed within her grasp. "I guess I must look a bit strange." She confessed with a laugh. What must he think of her now, running and crying over Snape? Would he tell Ron and Harry how strange she behaved?  
  
"Don' worry, it's ta be expected. Yer only human, Hermione, an' humans can act a might bit strange when the people they love 're 'urt." Hagrid said consolingly, and sat down across from her. Hermione nearly spit the tea she'd just sipped. And for once, it wasn't because of the flavour.  
  
"WHAT?!?" She asked, startled into incredulity. Hagrid looked at her with a genuinely innocent expression.  
  
"Humans can act a might bit strange..." He started again, before she waved a hand to stop him, shaking her head.  
  
"Why... Why would you think I love Snape?!?" She demanded this time. Had Hagrid seen them kiss? Her cheeks flushed a vibrant red at the thought. The half-giant looked at her in confusion for a minute. Then his eyes widened, and he seemed to realise something.  
  
"Oh, yeh mean... Yeh don't?" He asked after a brief pause. Hermione's mouth opened and closed automatically as she fought to find something to say. 'No, of course not!' Jumped to mind, but for some reason, she was having troubles spitting it out. The memory of soft lips against her own kept drifting up, striking an inner match ever time she searched for her voice. Hagrid was looking a little flustered himself. "Well, I jus' assumed, tha way Dumbledore said it an' all..."  
  
"D-Dumbledore?" Hermione asked, finally finding words. Dumbeldore knew about this?! Well, she'd always suspected that there was very little the man didn't know, but that suspicion hadn't tread into her personal affairs! Hagrid expression was reminiscent of how she felt. Like a person floundering in deep water.  
  
"Th-tha's it, no more questions!" He said, in the same tone of voice he always used when he thought he'd said to much, and before Hermione could blink she was being wished a good day and hurried out the door. As she stood there, blinking into the sunlight, she could think only one thing.  
  
Was she in love with Snape?  
  
  
  
A/N: And that's all she wrote! Well, actually no, I've got a fair bit of chapter twelve done. But it's all *you're* going to read. And yet again the reviews section is acting up, so I can't seem to read any of my anonymous reviews, so since only doing some shout-outs would be pretty unfair to those who didn't log-in I'll be skipping them again this chapter. Hopefully there won't be any problems next time. Thanks for reading, and as always, please tell me whatcha think! :D 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Hey everyone, sorry about the slightly longer than usual wait, I haven't been able to get at the computer as often as I'd like. Before we begin, I want to make a brief note, which I'd actually planned to put before chapter eleven but completely forgot to do. It's about tarantulas. Some of you may knows this, especially if you've ever had one as a pet, and some of you may not. I remembered it after a comment made by a reviewer named Jessica. Tarantulas, if propelled with enough force, break apart when they hit things or fall. Demi's a bit more resilient than your average one, being magically inclined, but still more breakable in that form than his human one. Having seen a tarantula 'explode' first-hand, I can tell you that this is absolutely one-hundred percent true about them. Now, on with the story!  
  
  
  
The pleasant darkness of a delirious, dreamless unconsciousness, induced by pain, filled Demitrius' mind. It was abruptly shattered by a burning energy that coursed through him, jolting him awake and throwing him far from the reaches of safe, quiet darkness. He bolted upright, eyes opening quickly, and instinctively reached for his wand. Which wasn't there. Panic seeped through his body, and he jerked around. Hands grabbed his arms and shoulders. Hands which, in his newly awakened state, he threw off with a vengeance before trying to jump away.  
  
The end result was the he knocked the couch he was lying on over, and heard a few shouts of surprise. Demi rolled to the ground, wincing as a piece of the couch's back slapped his shoulder blades, before rising swiftly to his feet. He looked around. Surrounded by faces, wands pointing at him, and... His eyes narrowed. Malfoy. Memory came rushing back to him, and he realised suddenly where he was. "Easy, easy there." A voice said, and Demitrius softened his stance, as he looked at an all too familiar face.  
  
Potter. "Don't worry, no one's going to hurt you." He said, as though talking to a frightened animal. Demi suppressed a snort of indignation. He had to remind himself that Potter's attitude was merited, under the circumstances, and that if he were to stay true to the lies he fed Malfoy, he should not show animosity towards this man. In fact, he should look happy if anything.  
  
Demitrius forcefully calmed his rather jangled nerves. "Where am I?" He asked carefully, looking at the aurors that surrounded him. His thoughts began to work along their normal lines once more. Aurors. Malfoy. The auror's meeting. Him, falling out the window. Crying out. They must have found him, and thus, any of them with intelligence would assume he was an animagus. Damn, that was a hell of a trick card to have to loose. Weasley was looking at him like he was the devil incarnate. And all of them knew he had rode her on Malfoy's shoe.  
  
"You're in a safe house. I'm Auror Potter, and this is my friend, Auror Weasley." Potter said, moving his hands slowly to indicate first himself, then the lanky redhead standing next to him. Without thinking Demi shot him a withering look, which instantly halted the 'easy does it' manner Potter had taken on. The man straightened, looking at him with firm, self- righteous green eyes. 'Moron.' Demi though darkly, but kept the emotion off his face. He took a breath. 'Remember, I *like* Potter. He's my supposed father, as far as Malfoy's concerned.' Demi thought.  
  
Malfoy.  
  
An entire range of indescribable emotions flooded through him. Hatred and rage were there, blanketed by worry, and just a hint of panic. What should he tell these people? What should he do? Obviously, he could easily tell the truth. Malfoy had him kidnapped, and he escaped. They could even use a penseive to prove it if they wanted. Demi almost shuddered. Penseives, they were something of a personal nightmare. But, he could get Malfoy put away. Locked up in Azkaban, safe, sound, and unable to do anyone any harm.  
  
Or impregnate his wife. "Why don't you sit down, and just explain what's going on here?" Potter said, as a few of the aurors began to right the fallen sofa, sensing no immediate threat.  
  
"Potter, I believe I can..." Malfoy began, looking almost murderous and desperate at the same time, but he was cut off by a nearby young woman.  
  
"Quiet, you. You'll get your chance to speak after the kid." She instructed him, holding her wand not far off from his chin. It seemed Demi wasn't the only one who had something against Malfoy. Indeed, more than three quarters of the room looked a little gleeful, no doubt fuelled by the prospect of finally getting rid of a hated fellow. Demitrius took the seat Potter offered. Yet again, Demi felt his stomach twist with nausea. This was going to be worse than saying that Potter was his father. This single, solitary act, may very well be the end of him. He looked around at all the expectant faces.  
  
"I'm a student from Hogwarts' school of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He began, even though he knew perfectly well such words weren't necessary. A few aurors nodded, looking kind, some just continued to wait, while further back one individual muttered 'obviously' under his breath. Potter gave him an encouraging nod. Demitrius fought the urge to snap at him. "I was kidnapped by Death Eaters, and, er, Auror Malfoy-" 'Maybe I'll get lucky and be struck by lightning right now?' "-R-rescued me." 'Marcus, when you are born, you are going to owe me. Big time.' That stutter was not false. The words were so repellent, Demitrius thought he might have rather declared that Potter was his father a hundred times over than say them again.  
  
Everyone in the room looked thunder-struck. Including Malfoy. Weasley's mouth kept opening and closing, slowly, but no sound came out. Potter looked like he had just been told Christmas was cancelled. And Malfoy... Well, he was first to recover, quickly slapping on a more relaxed look of confidence to replace the stunned-silent one he'd formerly boasted. Abruptly he pulled away from the aurors that had their wands on him, looking haughty and offended. But Demi caught the suspicious glance thrown his way.  
  
"M-Malfoy *saved* you?!?" Weasley demanded incredulously. Demitrius nodded, his outward appearance that of a calm, somewhat rattled young man. Inwardly, he was throwing a fit. Part of him wanted nothing more than to turn Malfoy in entirely. Let him rot, and forget about Marcus. But instantly the part of him that had morals, the part which had almost gotten him into Gryffindor, bristled at the thought. There would be other chances to get Draco Malfoy. Chances that came well after Marcus was growing in his mother's womb. If only Demi could remember the boy's birthday. He was never good with dates, usually only finding out a special event was coming a day or two beforehand.  
  
"Yes, Auror Malfoy rescued me from the Death Eaters this morning. I turned into my animagus form so he could smuggle me out, and we came here." Demitrius explained. Potter regarded him suspiciously.  
  
"How?" He asked, his eyes thoughtful. "When only certain floo's are hooked up to this place, how?" 'Oh shit.' Demi thought. He couldn't answer that one, could he? He racked his brain carefully, looking for something, anything. Maybe they were in Malfoy's house? But then, why? And wouldn't they want to send people to check up on Malfoy's wife?  
  
"We went to my place first, Potter, but I was worried they'd follow me so we kept going without stopping." Malfoy suddenly said in his cold, arrogant drawl. Weasley shot him a glare that was filled with daggers.  
  
"That didn't look like a planned arrival to me." He said darkly. Demi winced, outwardly even, as he remembered his unpleasant flight through the air to land on the older man's head. And then the one took again, out the window. It had been worse than using a broom. Worse, because whereas being on a broomstick felt like little control, falling out of a window was absolutely zero control. Before he realised what was happening, Potter had placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. Malfoy was watching.  
  
Demitrius fought the immediate urge to shrug it off, and instead gave Harry a very comforted look. "Thank you, Auror Potter." He said. 'You bloody moron, get your hand off me! Off!!" He thought, careful not to grit his teeth. This was like some terrible joke. Apparently, the aurors seemed to think so too, as they all looked from him to Malfoy, back to him, and then to Malfoy again. Demi cleared his throat. "You must want more details?" He said, trying to coach the room back into life. Maybe if he could get Potter and Weasley alone...  
  
Now there was an interesting idea. Though he was under orders not to reveal the nature of the future, and it couldn't be expected that either man would easily believe Demi *was* from another time, perhaps they could be of some use. They belonged to Dumbeldore's Order. That meant they knew more about Voldemort's actions then Demi at the moment, which made them valuable. And who knew? Maybe Weasley was less of a git than Potter.  
  
"You don't actually expect us to believe that Malfoy saved you!" The redhead declared, looking scandalous. Demi blinked. Or, he could be an even bigger git than Potter. Where on earth did his mother get her taste in friends? Henceforth, Demi decided, these two would be dubbed Dunderhead One (Potter) and Dunderhead Two (Weasley).  
  
"Ron, calm down." Dunderhead One said, although even Demi could tell it was a fruitless action. Dunderhead Two had gone slightly red, and there was a vein throbbing near his temple, as he glared at Demitrius. Demi looked at him with innocent confusion.  
  
"Are you mad at me Auror Weasley?" He asked nervously, putting enough of a twinge in his voice to see some of the female aurors soften a bit. Heheheh. Sometimes, Demi wondered if he was born charming, or if it was something he'd developed naturally over time. While the second theory seemed more likely, it was probably the first which was true. He'd been gifted with the ability to wrap people around his little finger for as long as he could remember.  
  
"What? Er, well, no, of course not kid..." Dunderhead Two muttered, looking somewhere between murderous and abashed. One thing that could be said, at least neither of his mother's friends had ever taken to Malfoy, which was at least a testament to their sanity. If nothing else. Malfoy shot Demi another 'what are you up to, you little brat?' look while no one was watching.  
  
'Wouldn't you like to know?' He though back, but kept quiet. If he couldn't throw Malfoy to the wolves he could at least keep him guessing.  
  
The aurors asked a few more questions, and Demi lied to the best of his ability. Which was considerable. However, many seemed a little dazed, suspicious, and confused. No one took his story at face value. But, then again, they didn't have to. 'I have a hunch' didn't cut in a court of law, even in the wizarding world, and especially when a Malfoy was involved. Unless, of course, it was the Malfoy who had the hunch.  
  
It was soon decided that the only thing to do would be to report the incident, and return Demitrius to Hogwarts. After a few of the usual tests had been performed as well. No one seemed to bring up the animagus thing. Either it had slipped their minds, or encountering an unregistered animagus wasn't all that uncommon a thing. Demitrius was the only one he'd ever known other than McGonagall.  
  
To no one's surprise, Potter decided that he and Weasley should have a word alone with Demi, whilst making thorough checks to ensure he was, in fact, a Hogwarts student. Something Dunderhead Two seemed the most sceptical about. After the other aurors had wandered back to the Meeting Room, with a few half-heartedly muttered apologies to Malfoy, Dunderhead One had fixed him with a very curious look. It would have almost been intimidating, were it not for the fact that Harry Potter could never, ever, hope to intimidate a Snape. Ever.  
  
"You haven't been completely honest, have you?" Potter asked suddenly, and Demitrius wondered if this was an unexpected flash of insight, or a typical interrogation method. Still, it could work to his advantage. He allowed himself a satisfied smirk.  
  
"Trying out for the role of Dumbledore, are we, Potter?" He asked, abandoned the 'scared teenager' persona for his more typical one. That air of confidence, and smooth, uninhibited charisma. Dunderhead Two looked at Demi like the Dark Mark had just appeared on his forehead with a 'bang' and a puff of smoke to accompany it. Potter frowned at him unhappily.  
  
"You don't need to be as great a wizard as Albus Dumbeldore to tell when someone else is lying through their teeth." Dunderhead One said, and Demitrius could see the walls stacked behind this familiar, if disliked, man's eyes. Unfortunately for Harry, Demitrius was far more experienced at reading him than vice versa.  
  
"I expect now you'll want me to denounce Dumbeldore's power, pledge my undying allegiance to the dark, and give a rousing speech to the general tone of 'curse you Harry Potter?'" Demitrius asked, raising an eyebrow, and quirking his lips into the accustomed smirk. He got an unpleasant frown back, much to his pleasure. Son of Harry Potter indeed. Like Potter could produce anything cunning enough to survive in Slytherin House. Demi leaned forward a little in his seat. "I hate to disappoint you both, but I am a Hogwarts student, I was kidnapped, and I do not serve You-Know-Who." He said, in mockingly whispered tones, a parody of a friend confessing a great crime to his fellows. Oddly enough, he mused, everything he'd said was actually true.  
  
Dunderhead Two snorted. "Like we're supposed to take you're word for it." He said, folding his arms and looking at Demi, as though waiting for something to happen. Demitrius turned his gaze coolly over to the other man.  
  
"Then give me veritaserum." He challenged. Weasley was about to open his mouth, a look of annoyance on his face, when a sudden 'tap, tap' at the window drew the attention of all who were present. A little grey owl hovered just outside the glass, waiting for admittance, a message tied firmly to one of it's legs.  
  
~  
  
After leaving Hagrid's hut in something of a daze, Hermione made her way back inside the castle. Yet again she drew a few quizzical looks from students, as she made her way down the hall, pale-faced and with a distant look in her eyes. She managed to maintain something of herself, however, until she made her way to her quarters.  
  
The door slid shut behind her with a 'click', and Hermione slid to the ground, her back pressed against it. Her eyes still had that far-off look to them. Sensing his mistress' unusual mood, Crookshanks made his way up to her, and brushed up against her leg. He meowed inquisitively. That interaction seemed to summon something out of Hermione. Reaching over, she scooped her familiar into her lap, and began running her fingers over his bright orange fur. He purred appreciatively, relaxing beneath her touch.  
  
Hermione curled up her knees as she looked at the pumpkin-coloured creature. "Nobody wanted you at first, did they?" She asked. Crookshanks took no notice of her question. He simply purred as pleasantly as ever, arching his back up under the brush of her fingers. "Not 'til I found you." She added, in a voice that was more quiet this time. A murmur, really.  
  
She thought she hated Snape. After all, everything he'd ever done lead towards such a feeling, didn't it? And one foolish little kiss couldn't change the world. But... It didn't feel like hate. And it wasn't the same feeling she had for other people she knew and cared about. But still, it definitely wasn't a normal crush, was it? "Oh Crookshanks, why in Merlin's name must I always pick the difficult ones?" She asked. All through her school days she'd traipsed around after Ron, a poor, angry young man with a lot to prove, and Harry, a boy with more 'issues' than she cared to mention. She'd helped the hopeless cause that was Neville Longbottom right through to the NEWTS. In fourth year, she started a campaign to grant rights to house elves, and dated Viktor Krum, the misunderstood Quidditch star from Durmstrang. For her familiar, she'd chosen a cat no one else had wanted, and grown to love that animal fiercely. And indeed, even in the days when she'd been sure of her dislike for Snape, she'd respected him as a teacher. Made note of his intelligence.  
  
With a groan Hermione shifted, burying her face in Crookshanks' soft fur. Why? Why did it always have to be the difficult cases? A rough tongue tickled her cheek, and she lifted her head a little. Crookshanks nuzzled her lightly. Soft fur tickled, making her want to laugh and sneeze at the same time. Reaching over, Hermione re-position the cat so that they were regarding one another. "You know why, don't you?" She said. "It's because the difficult cases are the ones most worth-while, aren't they?"  
  
Crookshanks didn't answer, but he looked at her with that intelligent, keen gaze, that always left her feeling like she'd found the most brilliant cat in the world. With a sigh Hermione put him down. She stood up, straightening out her robes as she did so, and running a hand through her hair. "You're not so different from Snape, you know." She mused. "And despite what Ron would probably say, I in no way mean that negatively." Hermione explained. It was true, she realised. Snape was just as alone in those dungeons, for all that he was surrounded by students and teachers, as Crookshanks had been in that pet shop, for all that he had been around other pets. 'And like me, for all that I had friends, I was always the odd one out.' Hermione thought, with a sudden burst of insight.  
  
Still, it in no way concluded that she was in love with Severus Snape. Only that she didn't utterly despise him anymore. No, the question of 'love' was both too specific to be answered, and too big to be dismissed at the same time. So like any other inquiry, it would have to be researched. 'Provided he actually gets back in one piece.' Hermione thought, with a twinge of worry. Without thinking she began to chew at her bottom lip, as she walked over to one over her long, narrow windows. It stared out over grass, trees, and sky. Of course, Snape had done this sort of thing before. Hermione winced as she remembered the pain she'd seen in his eyes. Was it like that every time? Was that why he always looked so sick and pale, when he wasn't busy being devilishly handsome?  
  
Hermione set her jaw firmly, resolution filling her soul in the way it can only effect a Gryffindor. She would go down to the dungeons, and prepare him something, to soothe his nerves when he got back from that meeting. And not 'if', *when*. She nodded her head to herself. Then they would sit down, and before he went to debrief himself to Dumbledore, or whoever it was he debriefed himself to, they would talk. Maybe about the kiss, maybe about him, or her, or whatever he wanted. It was the only thing she could think of to do.  
  
Hermione was going to leave, when a though occurred to her. How long would this meeting, or summons, or whatever it was, take? She paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. As far as she knew Snape never left a class. Which meant it wasn't likely more than a day. However, this was the weekend, and she had absolutely no idea what the man did on weekends. He didn't really seem the golfing type.  
  
Maybe this sort of thing was normal? Did they have meetings every weekend? She shook her head. No, if that was true he wouldn't have accompanied her to Hogsmeade, would he? Still, at the very least he could be hours and hours. She frowned. Maybe she should just scrap the whole idea, pick up a good book, and get back to this tomorrow? 'That's just being a coward, and you know it!' A little voice inside her piped up. With a sigh, Hermione pulled open her door. Righ then. Down to the dungeons, whip up something pleasantly soothing that can keep warm, and wait.  
  
Hermione wasn't sure whether she hoped the wait would be long or not.  
  
~  
  
The room Snape found himself in was as cold as ice, and dark, without a single torch lit or even a candle to cast shadows into the blackness. No windows. He blinked, standing as tall and unwavering as he could, trying to see through the dark. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. "Ah, Severus." A familiar, sickly voice said mockingly from the dark behind Snape. The Potions Master drew his composure around him like a shield, and forced himself not to turn. To appear frantic would be foolish.  
  
"You summoned me, my Lord?" He asked, years of practice keeping the tremor from his voice. The creature Voldemort had become with time was physically far more revolting than he had been originally. His voice, his face, his very presence had grown foul, like a body left to rot in a room with you. It perfectly reflected the Dark Lord's inner self, much more aptly than any of his other forms had. Well, except perhaps the fetal one he'd learned of from Dumbeldore. But Snape had yet to personally witness that. Nor did he want to, now that he thought of it.  
  
A hissing sound Snape had come to understand was Voldemort's version of a laugh sounded behind him. "Always to the point, aren't we? My faithful, loyal, obedient servant." The creature, who perhaps once was a man, said. 'And you followed him once, willingly.' Snape reminded himself viciously. No one had held him down when the Dark Mark was placed on his arm.  
  
"I would hate to think that I might suffer you my presence without due cause, my Lord." Snape said evenly, and gave his head a little bow of respect. Ever since Lucius had begun to insist upon the questionable nature of Snape's loyalty, he had tread on thin ice with Voldemort. Indeed, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, a suspicions of his was confirmed. It lodged a block of ice in his stomach. He was alone. None of the others had been summoned, and that made the occasion far more likely to turn ugly.  
  
"You assume too much, Severus." Voldemort hissed, and this time a slight shuffle was heard, as the Dark Lord slinked around the room behind his supposed servant. "Never assume." The voice grew even more cold and vile on these words. Snape braced himself, as a sudden explosion of pain burst around him. Not the Cruciatus. No, that was far too obvious to be used on a regular basis, and besides, it had a habit of driving people insane. This spell was a lesser version. It caused pain, but only to the head. Snape winced as sparks of white light lanced across his vision, and raised a hand, gritting his teeth. Voldemort would stop if he didn't cry out. Snape learned long ago, that while some tormentors halted once they broke their victims, Voldemort only grew more intrigued. It was silence that eventually bored him into halting.  
  
The worst part was, Snape never knew what would set him off. Yesterday, that same response might have earned him a laugh, or even praise. Tomorrow, it may well have merited a full-blown dance with the Cruciatus curse, and a few kicks for goo measure. But then, lunatics were often hard to make sense of. Voldemort laughed again. "Poor Severus." He hissed, and Snape repressed a shudder. On the Dark Lord's tongue, his name became a vile thing, whether or not that was Voldemort's intent. More shuffling, as the creature moved yet again. "Things have been going on." He said at last, spitting the words out darkly. Snape knew better than to speak. He let Voldemort continue. "Lucius' son, he's up to something. Twice in so little time a lower follower has paid him a visit."  
  
Snape waited. So, Draco Malfoy had caught Voldemort's eye? Well, that could go either way for the man. "Find out what it is, Severus. Find out and tell me." The voice suddenly said, and Snape's eyes widened just a slight bit, for the sound came from right behind his ear. "You've always been a good little spy." The voice told him.  
  
"As you say, my Lord." Snape managed to choke out, holding back his revulsion at the Dark Lord's proximity. He almost snapped as a cold, bony, sickly textured hand was placed against his cheek.  
  
"I don't like secrets that aren't mine." The voice said, and this time Snape was just able to catch the glint of a shimmering, reptilian eye, before an all-too-familiar word was whispered, and he found himself on the ground, writhing in pain. And all that he could see was hideous, and all that he could hear was a cold, mocking laughter.  
  
Then the pain stopped. Voldemort turned his ugly face away, and Snape leaned his head against the cool floor, feeling for all the world like he wanted to die. It wasn't a moment before he picked himself back up. His nerves were jangled and frayed. So, he still hadn't managed to leave without a small taste of Cruciatus then. Well, he supposed Voldemort wouldn't count one of their meetings a success unless he got someone to scream at least once. "Go."  
  
It was all Snape needed. In a flash, he apparated away from the cold, dead room, leaving behind the monster. But sadly not the pain. And not truly the monster either, for as long as that mark burned against his skin, the monster would always be there. Eyes upon him. He appeared just a little outside of Hogsmeade, somewhere far past his intended mark. But Snape could be forgiven if his mind was not completely with him. He dropped back to the ground limply. No Voldemort to see, no colleagues to judge, just plain, open grass and dirt. And sunlight. He twitched a little, his nerves jumpy from the recent pain. Malfoy. Snape winced. This wasn't good, not at all. It was hardly likely that Demitrius' disappearance and Malfoy's strange behaviour were entirely coincidental. Snape didn't know why his former pupil hadn't gone straight to the Dark Lord with the boy from the future. Surely, it would earn him a high position, to bring such a treasure to the 'Master'. Was he going for a power-play of his own? Or was it sheer stupidity?  
  
Either way, Snape was in shit now. He closed his eyes shut tight as he lay in the dirt, trying to ignore the twinges of his battered body and mind. It wouldn't do not to think about it. But right now, he just couldn't. Slowly his thoughts began to blur, until deep, dark unconsciousness swept over him. As his mind drifted away from the world, his last thoughts were of a pair of concerned brown eyes, and soft lips against his own...  
  
  
  
A/N: Voila, done! Shout-outs are below. Thanks for reading, and again, sorry 'bout the delay.  
  
Moira McDuff: Well, hmm, I don't know if you could say that Malfoy weasled his way out of that or not. :D Oh well. I'm thrilled I made you laugh, I was going for a humorous tone with that. Poor Ron. I get the feeling I'm going to be performing a bit of Weasley-torture in the next little while. Thanks for reading and reviewing! :D  
  
Star: :D Glad you loved it, and I hope you didn't have to wait too long.  
  
jade_dagger: Hmm, interesting, you must have woken up fairly early for that. Well, thanks for the review!  
  
Aemos: Er, well, not as soon as I would have hoped. But, look, it's there! Sorry if I kept you waiting too long. Hope you liked this last chapter, and I'm glad you enjoyed chapter eleven!  
  
AngelApple: Yay!!!! :D  
  
Adriana: You're welcome, and thank you for the encouraging reviews. I'm very glad you think my characters are on target, it's something I really try to pull of. :D I'm really flattered you added my story to your favourites!  
  
white raven: Oh wow, such high praise! Thank you very much, I'm really, truly flattered you think so highly of my story. I must confess I feel slightly evil for what I did to Ron. But, meh, it was fun, and I'm glad you liked it. Writing Demi's dialogue is an absolute treat. Thanks for the review, Ihope you liked chapter twelve. :D  
  
moonglow11066: You got it, and thanks, I'm awfully fond of splashing dark with light.  
  
Isa: You're welcome, I'm glad you enjoyed the picture and the chapter! :D  
  
Scarlet: I hope it was, no, and thank you for reviewing. ^_^  
  
Aqua Child: Hope I didn't disappoint, and to answer your questions, sorry, I can't answer you're questions! :D I know, I know, I'm really quite evil. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Potionsgurl: Glad you liked it. Draco gets more air-time soon, hope you enjoyed this latest chapter!  
  
Echo of Silent Cries: Oooh, 'magnificent'! :D Thanks!  
  
Mercurial: Thanks, you got it!  
  
Beth Ann: Glad you liked it. Yup, poor Ron, I don't think it was part of his plan to become a spider landing-platform! :D Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Landry Anne: Oooooh, favourites! Yay! ^_^ Thanks so much, glad you're enjoying it!  
  
Draco's Angel: Ack, don't go insane! Noooooooo! Here, there, I updated!  
  
Becca Black: Glad you liked the chapter. You've got pretty good insight, don't ya? Hope you enjoyed chapter twelve. There should be more SS/HG interactions soon, good to know you're having fun reading it. I'll keep writing, so you keep reviewing! ^_^  
  
Sonja S.: I'll keep writing, and thanks so much for the review! To answer to of your questions, which I find fairly harmless enough to the plot to reveal, Michael is already born but still in diapers, and Demi's wand is either on Malfoy or in his Manor. I won't say which. Hope you enjoyed reading the last chapter, and that the suspense hasn't killed one of my best reviewers! ^_^  
  
Witchy-grrl: :D Thanks for the review! Yay! Always nice to get one from you. Yup, Dumbledore can't keep his bushy beard out of anything. I'm so happy you're into my story. Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long for this chapter, and that you enjoyed it! :D  
  
Gemz: Ah, no, please don't send me a howler! Look, see? I did it! :D Lol, thanks for the review!  
  
hasapi: To answer your question, it would appear he gets the letter after, :D. Thanks for the reviews, and I didn't mind that you intended to do one for every chapter, or that in the end you didn't. I'm just happy getting feedback from nice people like you. Thank you very much for saying you find this story well-written. I hope you liked the last chapter! :D  
  
Lady Knight of Kennan: Yay! ^-^ I'm glad you like it so much, and thank you very much for the long review. Yes, I am evil. Verrrrrry evil. And sorry I kept you waiting longer than I normally would prefer. It's great that you find my story entertaining and original, and I'm ultimately flattered to be on your favourites list. Hope you keep reading! :D  
  
Jessica: Well, you have a very valid point, and one I've considered. If you haven't already please read the author's note before the chapter. But, thank you for your help. If nothing else it reminded me I had an explanation I'd forgotten. :D  
  
revel-in-me: You're very welcome, and I hope I didn't keep you waiting long.  
  
Jordan: You got it, thanks for the review!  
  
Music: Okay, you didn't say that, but all the same I'm glad you did. Thanks for the comments on Malfoy, hope you liked this chapter!  
  
Avada: Thanks, I'm working on it!  
  
Eirete: Glad you liked the convo, and sorry to disappoint you, what with not immediately shipping Malfoy off to Azkaban. But who knows, Demi's hardly one to let this sort of thing slide, is he?  
  
Elendil Snape: Great, I hope to keep everyone curious for as long as I possibly can, without being *too* cruel. Thanks for the compliments, hope you enjoyed chapter twelve!  
  
Goddessnmb1: Thanks, glad you liked it! :D  
  
kitsunelover: Thanks for the review, and I guess you've got a shot with Demi, he is available after all. ^_~. Personally I think Snape'd make a great Dad, although he'd probably be totally biased towards his kid. 


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Sorry for the long wait everyone. It's been. Whoa, heheh, um. Huh. Anyway, now that OotP's come out, there are some nasty bits here and there that don't exactly match up anymore. Thankfully nothing too major, but if anyone notices any of these, kindly chalk them up to being conceived of before contradictory information was at hand. Also, the storyline for this fic has taken a slight twist in the hopes of accommodating the newer information. That, and I lost my original outline. I remember most of it, but I'm still re-writing bits and pieces. *Crosses fingers and hopes it all still flows properly*  
  
Re-Cap: Alright, so here's what's going on. Demi, Snape and Hermione's son from the future, has gone back in time to try and stop Voldemort from winning the war. Malfoy kidnaps him, but Demi manages to escape, meanwhile tricking him into believing a completely bogus story about the future. Now Demi is with Ron and Harry. Snape and Hermione, on the other hand, are assigned to search for their adventuresome son, but have their own growing romantic feelings to deal with. Snape was called away by Voldemort, who asked him to keep an eye on Malfoy. Hermione's gone down to the dungeons to wait for Snape so they can talk, and Snape's lying unconscious in a field just outside of Hogsmeade, suffering the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse. Ron thinks Demi's evil, Hagrid's got a lot more figured out than 'Mione or Sev about the both of them, and Dumbledore's just sitting back and watching the shit hit the fan. So, let's continue.  
  
Demi watched as Ron stalked over to the window, and carefully gave the owl admittance. The bird landed on the back of a chair and waited patiently while Dunderhead Two detached the message from its leg. "He's a Hogwarts owl." The redhead said curiously, as he fished into his pocket, and pulled out a packet of crackers. The fluffy grey bird snatched one away. Curiously, Dunderhead Two unfurled the scrap of paper, and began to read. After a minute he handed it to Dunderhead One. Demi took in the scene carefully. A Hogwarts owl? Had they noticed he was missing, then? That was a bit sooner than he'd thought.  
  
Potter finished reading, and looked at his friend thoughtfully. "Well, at least we know he is, in fact, a student." He said.  
  
"And he's at least got 'Mione convinced he's not a Death Eater wannabe." Dunderhead Two added. Demitrius blinked. His mother had sent the letter? She had noticed him gone? Well, now, that was interesting. He wondered what had happened. Maybe his father had caught the boys on their return trip? He would have to look into it later. Relaxing into his seat, Demitrius allowed a disconcertingly happy smile to cross his features. What next?  
  
Apparently, Hermione's faith in Demi wasn't enough for Dunderhead Two. The man shot him with a very suspicious look. He was starting to think it was the only one Weasley was capable of. "Yeah, but you know how she is about that stuff..." Dunderhead Two said to Potter. Demi raised an eyebrow. Was he implying that his mother was naïve? Something akin to anger, but not quite, began to flare in him. More like outrage, really. How dare this obvious prat insinuate that his mother couldn't tell a loyal bungler of the dark from an honest student?  
  
"Watch what you say, Weasley, I happen to like Professor Granger." Demitrius snapped, unable to resist the urge to retaliate. Two sets of eyes turned to regard him in mild surprise.  
  
"A Slytherin student who likes a Gryffindor teacher? Now that's a first." Potter said, rather dumbly in Demi's opinion. He shot the man a withering look.  
  
"Yes, well, unlike most Gryffindors Professor Granger is intelligent." He retorted. 'Getting off track here, Demi. Let's get back to manipulation.' His brain reminded him. As the Dunderheads proceeded to ponder a reasonable retort to that, he mulled over what his next move should be. Go back to Hogwarts and return to trying to teach his mother to take credit? Or... Was there another option?  
  
"...Is it just me, Harry, or does he remind you of someone?" Dunderhead Two said suddenly, drawing Demi away from his thoughts. He looked up to see the two men watching him carefully. Demitrius firmly transformed his face into a mask, bland and unemotional, and waited to see where this train of thought would lead. Potter was looking at him closely.  
  
"Now that you mention it, he does look familiar. It's the hair." Dunderhead One said.  
  
"And the eyes." Dunderhead Two replied.  
  
"The voice..."  
  
"...And that 'look'..."  
  
"...Ron? You know who he reminds me of?" Potter at last said, and Demi wondered if he'd figured it out. Had he been acting like his father? Perhaps. Certainly not like his mother, she would never insult Gryffindor House openly. Dunderhead One was looking at him in a curious fashion. "Professor Snape."  
  
Well, well, well, apparently Potter had a little presence-of-mind in this timeline. Interesting. Dunderhead Two was looking at him with that same gaping, mistrustful stare, like he was the devil incarnate. Demitrius sort of liked it, gave him a power rush. "Merlin's teeth, you're right!" Ron said. "You don't suppose they're related, do you?" He asked, and it slightly irked Demi to see the obvious displeasure on Dunderhead Two's face.  
  
"Are you?" Dunderhead One asked. Demitrius considered his answer before he gave it. Obviously, outward denial would look a bit fishy. Then again, he couldn't really lay claim to being some distant relation, could he? Judging by the way Dunderhead Two's look of contempt had darkened, that wouldn't earn him much in they way of trust. He knew perfectly well that his father came from a less than noble family. Well, truly noble, anyway. They were a fairly respected, incredibly small group.  
  
Then again, there was the truth. But the truth, besides being an utterly boring way to answer a question, was very hard to believe. He darted a glance over at his mother's letter. Perhaps she had mentioned his unique origins? But, then again, owl post was hardly leak-proof. She would know that. Demitrius sighed. His head hurt, he was sore, tired, and sick to death of trying to figure the whole damned world out. He looked at Potter. For a brief, split-second, something passed between them. A sort of mutual weariness. In that small sliver of time Demi stopped, if only for a moment, despising Harry Potter. Then he remembered the sort of man Dunderhead One could turn into, weak, empty, and spiritless, and it all returned. Demitrius straightened back up and decided to do something completely out of character. He told the truth.  
  
~  
  
The tea was keeping warm. The dungeons, on the other hand, were slowly but steadily getting much, much colder as the moments went by. Hermione sat next to the brewing tea, thinking not of Snape this time, but of the mission they were supposed to be on. It had occurred to her, after she had reached the dungeons, that her colleague's sudden disappearance did not bode well for their search. A student goes missing, and a Death Eater is summoned away? Something cold had grasped Hermione's stomach firmly, and had been holding it tight for the past half hour. She wasn't sure what to do. Their search, though informative, still left no real clues as to Demitrius' location. He could be anywhere. He could be dead, lying cold and still on some interrogation room's floor, the information pumped out of him and his body tossed aside like so much garbage. The image made her both terrified and enraged at the same time. Death Eaters. People like the Malfoys. They were scum, baby-killers, cowards who slinked through the shadows putting knives in people's backs.  
  
And when they weren't busy killing children, they were corrupting them. People like Draco Malfoy didn't start out as evil pricks. Well, granted, nobody did, but having a full-blown recruiting service for the dark side at the ready wasn't much help. At least for their side. Hermione shook her head, rising from her seat. These thoughts were useless. She knew they were on the wrong side, knew exactly why she was fighting them, so dwelling on it wasn't any good. It wouldn't get poor Demitrius out of harm's way.  
  
As she whirled to her feet, something caught Hermione's eye. She had decided to set up her 'waiting post' in the classroom. It was less invasive than the other rooms in the dungeons, but she would still know when Snape arrived. Occasionally he would keep experimental potions behind his desk. Projects he worked on, when he had nothing to do between classes. Hermione herself kept a hefty stash of books on-hand for such situations. The potion itself was probably nothing remarkable. She couldn't really tell, it was thick and black, and likely had an anti- opening charm on the stopper. It reminded her of the evening she'd caught Snape and Demi brewing all those concoctions together. So many potions. All of them foreign and fascinating.  
  
The boy was brilliant. Hermione had only been a teacher for a few short years, but she could tell the difference between someone who knew a lot, and someone who knew how to use their knowledge. And the interesting thing was, Slytherins and Gryffindors seemed the best at using what they knew. Hufflepuffs lacked the drive for it, and Ravenclaws were too busy amassing it to be bothered. In general, of course. Really, the only thing that set Slytherins and Gryffindors apart was what they used it for. A Gryffindor would use their knowledge to the benefit of their moral principals. Whatever they believed was right, that was what they worked to support. Slytherins, on the other hand, used it for what was in their best interests. That meant that some were, undeniably, selfish pricks. But it also meant that some of the most ingenious developments in the wizarding world came from Slytherin minds. Of course, when she was younger she hadn't realised that. 'Slytherin' was just another word for 'evil'.  
  
Demitrius, it seemed, had the power to play on either team. A unique thing in a person. Usually those able to be Slytherins would be unacceptable as Gryffindors, and vice versa. But Hermione had seen it before. She always thought Harry could have been a very passable Slytherin. He had the drive, the need to succeed, to push himself towards his goals. It was just that for him, success contradicted no moral rules. But what about Demi? Hermione looked at the potions. Yes, definitely a Slytherin. He had contradicted a good many of society's rules so far. The only real question was, to what end?  
  
"Listen, Professor, just say you came up with it alright?" "What is wrong with you! Can't you just take credit for once?" "Look, you're smart enough, I'm smart enough, who cares if it isn't the actual truth? No one will find out." The words rang in her mind, things he had said to her, trying to convince her to take credit for spells that weren't her own. But why? Always he seemed so urgent and desperate, as if there was a great dark beast tugging at his mind. As the days passed he had begun to look more haggard. More than once she spied him downing a full mug of coffee at breakfast, looking just about ready to fall out of his seat. And it wasn't likely that the studies were what was killing him. In class, he did well, but not as well as he could have done. Enough to run around a seventy-five percent average.  
  
Hermione ran a hand through the thick mass of her hair. Extra potions with Snape, extra spells with her, looking exhausted all the time, and not doing anywhere near so well as he should have in class. It all screamed of someone who was working desperately hard at another project. She remembered the first time he had arrived, in that explosion of magic. When he'd talked to Dumbledore in secret. Just what had been said? She thought on this for a moment. If she had come back in time, and was acting this way, it would be because she came back for a reason. More than just an accident. If it was that, her extra time would be spent trying to get home, not teaching professors spells they would learn anyway. And if she were a Slytherin, then that reason would likely be very personal.  
  
So, what would benefit him, from having his teachers learn all this ahead of time? Hermione's mind raced over the information he'd given her. Spells, incantations, charms, curses, all of it seemed designed perfectly for a very vicious fight. Protection and offence. They were the bits of magic from a time of war. But something was keeping Demi back, holding his tongue and staying his hand, of that much she was certain. So what was it? What was going on here?  
  
The sound of heavy footsteps tugged Hermione's mind from it's thoughts. Of course. Tea, dungeons, Snape. She walked over to the doorway. What time was it? Before her mind could formulate an answer, she reached the opening to the classroom and peered out. Her breath caught in her throat.  
  
He looked beyond haggard. His drained form leaned limply up against the wall of the hallway, strands of dark hair falling into his face, as he drew deep and shaking breaths. His very being screamed of a man pulling along his body, the spirit unwilling to succumb to the physical form's exhaustion. A moment passed by, like the beat of a heart, as Hermione and Snape regarded one another. Then before she even made a conscious thought, she had moved towards him. "What are you doing here?" Snape asked, his voice gruff and harsh. Were it not for the fact that the man could barely walk, Hermione might have thought there was nothing wrong with him.  
  
"We need to talk." She said, her voice hushed as she looped an arm around his waist. He recoiled only slightly at the contact. Hermione ignored it, and his protests, as she helped him into the classroom nearby. Carefully she deposited him into a seat near the working burner, right in front of the tea that had been keeping warm. He sat there, drawing hushed breaths and looking at her with his dark eyes. Hermione began to pour the tea. And froze.  
  
Dark hair, dark eyes, swathed in black as he tried meekly to keep from passing out. The strength his form emitted, even through weakness. Pale skin. And a face that held only a look of torment in it's gaze, shielded behind a mask, so carefully laid and kept that you could forget it was there. Hermione knew that look. She had seen it in him so many times before, but she had also seen it in one other. When the boy came crashing to her feet from a swirling mass of black energy. She took a deep breath. Something had fallen into place.  
  
The only question was, could it possibly be true?  
  
~  
  
A dark, hopeless future. A world where Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and countless other brave witches and wizards are little more than lifeless corpses. The son of a traitor to the dark goes back in time, to save everything from its own broken destiny. Demitrius was certain that they wouldn't believe him. It was truth, but it was so outrageous, even for the wizarding world. So very dark. It wasn't something they would want to believe, and it was far-fetched enough that they didn't have to. But at this point Demi really didn't care. Stronger, older, and wiser wizards before him had crumpled under the pressure of trying to change the world. There was only so much a person could take before they snapped. He wondered how his father had managed it all.  
  
The last words fell from his lips. ".And that's how I got here." He said. As soon as he was through, he couldn't believe how much he'd just told these two Gryffindors. Who his parents were, where he came from, how and why he came back, what his plans were. He'd left out nothing. Nothing, except what had really passed between Malfoy and himself. But that was a personal matter to be dealt with later, when Marcus' life was more or less assured.  
  
It was hard to describe the way Potter and Weasley were looking at him. Weasley seemed to be unsure as to whether he should look outraged, horrified, disgusted, afraid, angry, sympathetic, suspicious, or confused. He seemed to have settled on furrowing his brows and opening his mouth periodically, making a slight 'whoosh' sound as air passed his lips, and then cutting it off abruptly. Potter had gone pale and quiet, and was staring at Demi with a serious intensity that almost threw him off. He'd seen him look like that before only a few times in his life. His mother's funeral, and the last night he saw him, a few weeks before he died. It was the expression of a man weighing something that pulled at his soul. ".Why should we believe you?" Potter asked, as coldly as any man could. Demitrius recognised this; it was a method of distancing ones self from an unwanted prospect without using blatant denial. You separate yourself into a two pieces. The one that asks what needs to be asked, does what needs to be done, and deals with what needs to be dealt with. Like raising a wand against any enemy as you watch your family die around you. Not thinking, not processing, just completing the actions ingrained into your system. Then there is the other part, that almost seems to be watching you as you do this, hovering far, far past your eyes. The part of you that screams silently in terror. Potter wasn't quite that far yet. But he seemed a man accustomed to splitting himself in two.  
  
"Well, I certainly wouldn't take it all at face value if I were you." Demitrius said, somewhat wearily, and this time now completely unaware of how like either of his parents he may be acting. "Point one. You're a Gryffindor, and I'm a Slytherin. The default for us is to hate each other first, and ask questions later. Point two, you don't know me, don't like me, and don't exactly trust me. Point three, apart from an obviously short letter delivered to you not long ago, you have no reason to believe I am anything remotely close to what I claim to be. And point four, denial is the greatest contributor to happiness in the minds of the ignorant." He supplied, ticking off the points on his fingers, and failing to maintain his accustomed level of grace and composure through it. He felt like he'd been run through a meat grinder. Or at the very least been spun around extremely fast in a particularly large racing wheel.  
  
"Are you calling us ignorant, kid?" Weasley finally managed to say, catching hold on one of the more familiar emotions vying for attention in his mind, and lashing out at possibly one of the least impacting statements Demi had made since he began talking. Demitrius shot him a withering look.  
  
"Don't be an idiot." He snapped neatly. "It's not my fault if you can't interpret an open sentence in a non-insulting way. Besides, your intelligence is far from the main issue here." Demi said, and really hoped he wasn't about to get punched in the mouth. He had the sneaking suspicion he would pass out again if that happened, and though he doubted either of the two men in the room would harm him while he was in such a state, unconsciousness was a dangerous position to be in. After all, only so many people in the world could be trusted when your eyes were closed.  
  
Weasley, on the other hand, seemed to have decided that he liked Demi better when he was unconscious. Well, no, decided was possibly the wrong way to describe it. He looked like he was going to stop Demitrius from saying any more things he didn't want to hear, and in the most basic of ways possible. Thought didn't have a lot to do with Ronald Weasley when he took a step forward.  
  
"Ron, leave it." Potter said, raising an arm to block his friend, his voice still quite distant. "He's telling the truth." He said simply. Weasley looked at him in shock.  
  
"The truth? All of that... that rubbish? Even if the world did fall off on its hinges, our Hermione would never, not in a million years have a kid with that greasy git! Not unless he forced her anyway." Weasley said, muttering the last bit in such a manner that Demitrius could tell he didn't really mean it. He could see, straight-off, that the words were spoken in a moment of heat, out of spite and anger. People often became insulting when they were scared or confused, and especially when they were both.  
  
So it was that Demi realised that there was another way a person could split into two halves, or else how could his logical, rational mind be watching himself lunge forward, smashing his fist against a rather pale cheek, and topple to the ground, angrily clutching at Ron Weasley's shirt and trying to both hit and strangle him at the same time. "Bastard! How dare you?!?" He shouted, before he knew what he was saying, or even remembered why.  
  
A pair of brightly coloured eyes were looking up at him in shock, as surprisingly strong arms suddenly yanked him away, and unceremoniously deposited him on the floor nearby. Demi winced as his freshly healed arm thudded against the rather hard floor, and his teeth rattled a bit in his mouth. A few specks of colour blinked across his vision, his body's warning lights, telling him that he should most certainly not do anything like that again. But past that, in the calm centre of his obviously stormy temper, Demitrius was shocked. It wasn't as though the man had said anything he hadn't heard before, and in more foul wording as well. This wasn't like him. He didn't punch people on instinct, that was what his wand was for.  
  
But he didn't have his wand. Realisation hit Demitrius, followed with a growing understanding of the jumpy, uneasy, nagging feeling pulling at his stomach. He still didn't have his wand back. "I need my wand!" The words came tumbling out in a jumbled panic before Demi could think about what he was saying. The minute they came out he cursed himself for the display, and the look of growing shock he was receiving from both Dunderheads now.  
  
"I rather think you've done enough damage without one." Potter said, and now that Demitrius looked, he could see the slight trickle of blood trailing down Weasley's jaw. 'Slow. Easy. Calm.' He thought, trying to suppress the tumultuous emotions that were suddenly boiling too close to the surface. In his heart of hearts, he'd known that these emotions were strong, and as he fought them down each day, trying to rid himself of them through small acts, they only continued to grow. Punching a wall in privacy, a violent act that rid him of something for a while, an outlet that helped to calm the storm. To keep it below the surface while he kept his wits about him. And now that he thought back on it, he could see in his mind just how many times he had lashed out on some inanimate thing. Always trying to get rid of all those feelings. But now, he could barely hold on to his strength of will. His wand was gone. He was tired, burnt out, alone, uneasy, under suspicion... And still reeling from one of the greatest massacres that had yet to occur. His face was in his hands, and he simply sat there, shielding his eyes from the light and forcing himself under control.  
  
Several moments went by like that. Perhaps it was only a few seconds. More than likely it was longer. He just sat, feeling his own palms against his cheeks, breathing deeply. First he would need to deal with the repercussions of his recent actions. He had never struck a wall in anger where eyes could see him, and now, he'd done it to a person with very little provocation. Such things did not sweep easily under rugs. After that, he would have to get his wand back, and see if he still couldn't salvage some sort of a victory out of this disaster.  
  
Drawing a breath, Demitrius looked up. They were starting at him. Weasley had a kerchief to his lower lip and was gently dabbing at the blood. It looked as though the blow would swell quite a bit. Potter was looking at him carefully again. Slowly, Demitrius stood up, brushing off his robes, though by now they were filthy enough that the effort was futile. He'd already put them through the ringer of sorts, there were a few rips here and there, and at least one rather large dirt mark from his unfortunate fall. "I apologise, that was an over-reaction." He said, as quietly as he dared.  
  
".You look like you could use a proper rest and something to eat." Potter said. Demitrius said nothing, though he knew it was true. "Come on, maybe nobody lives in this house on a regular basis, but the kitchen is still stalked nicely. We can talk more later, and see about finding your wand, of course."  
  
"Of course."  
  
~  
  
"Professor Granger, I can assure you that while I agree a discussion of some sort is probably in order, this is possibly not the most appropriate of times for it." Severus said, as he tried very hard not to fall unconscious again. He loathed doing that. Had he not been lost in something of a haze, he might have noticed that Hermione was looking at him in a very odd manner. As it was his rather battered mind simply took it for nervousness, and put it to rest. A soft hand was pressing a warm cup into his fingers before he was entirely certain how or why, but he nonetheless accepted the offering, raising the object to his lips and letting the pleasant liquid slide down his throat.  
  
"I can see that, obviously you can barely stay awake. I just... I wanted to make sure you were alright." She confessed softly, and Severus was surprised to hear her say such a thing. 'I wanted to make sure you were alright.' Only a few people in his life had said such words to him. And, if he was going to be completely truthful with himself, Severus had never gotten a strange buzz in his heart when Albus Dumbledore said that. But he did now. A beautiful, intelligent, strong and virtuous young woman had just told him she actually cared whether or not he came back dead from one of his 'meetings'. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he might've thought that he was dreaming.  
  
"Why?" He asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer. Hermione looked at him, and for a moment, he saw sadness flicker across her vision. Not pity, not annoyance, just a gentle, subtle sadness that flickered there. Sadness at the thought that a man she believed to be good, to be worthwhile, could actually have to ask that question of anyone. It, more than her words, took Severus aback.  
  
"...I don't know quite why I kissed you, but... I know I enjoyed it. Now that I think about it, I've spent so much time thinking about you, maybe not the nicest things, but you've been in my mind. And when I stop being angry, or annoyed, or thinking about other things, I... I don't think I mind you at all. In fact, I rather like you. I don't think anyone's made me want to be so good at something, just to show them up, and I respected you for that when I was younger. I still do respect you, but now I think I have a lot more reasons to. I suppose... I suppose I've taken an interest in you. And I want to see where it goes. No matter what you may think of yourself, Severus, you're a better man than most." She said, and through his lingering pain and exhaustion, and even past the soothing haze of the tea, he could see the truth, and the resolve in her eyes. A rather rueful smile swept up his lips. It surprised her, obviously, to see it. Not a sneer, nor a mockery of its kinder cousin, but a real, if somewhat jaded smile.  
  
"Am I another of the infamous Hermione Granger's experiments then?" He asked. Hermione froze, and her eyes widened.  
  
"I-I didn't mean it like that!" She said suddenly. Severus raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Really? That's a shame. I always rather liked your experiments." He managed to say, though he was fairly certain he slurred the last bit out. Somewhere he knew what her response would be before she said it, though if asked to pinpoint the source of the location, he would have to decline on the grounds that he wasn't entirely certain he wouldn't be committing for claiming it was the wall to his left. But then he really wasn't entirely together.  
  
"Y-you did? I mean, you knew about them? B-but, but why didn't you ever catch me up?" She asked, startled. Ever since the polyjuice potion she made in her second year, concocting difficult and unique potions in her spare time had become something of a hobby. Which meant that in her school years, she'd nipped quite a bit from Snape's stores. He shook his head at her a bit.  
  
"My dear Hermione, you may have thought I was the only professor who didn't hold you as their favourite student. Apart from that Umbridge woman of course. You were rather incorrect, I'm afraid." He said, and he could see the confusion flash in her eyes. She had such powerful eyes. Why had he ever thought that showing emotions in them was a weakness? Eyes like that could stop a giant dead in its tracks.  
  
"Then why..."  
  
"Why didn't I make you my top student?" He asked, finishing a question he knew had torn at her since she graduated, although why she let it had always baffled him. "I had held out hope for Malfoy, and held onto spite for Potter. I'm afraid you were in the crossfire." He confessed. "Though, for what it's worth," He added quietly, "If I could go back in time I would have failed that little brat. Of course, there are quite a few other things about my life I'd change as well."  
  
".Severus?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Hmm?" He replied, finally realising that he'd lost the war with his own tired body, and was falling to sleep on the spot.  
  
"I somehow don't think that time travel is all it's cracked up to be."  
  
~  
  
To Be Continued.  
  
A/N: I know it's a bit on the short side, it was a busy weekend, but at least I'm back to doing it now. Ordinarily I'd post shout-outs here, but I'm afraid I don't have the time to do those anymore. Sorry! But, anyway, hope you all liked it. 


End file.
